


After the Flaw

by KanedaX



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Comedy, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Harry Potter Next Generation, Masturbation, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-20
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 43
Words: 240,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanedaX/pseuds/KanedaX
Summary: Wizards fall in love. Wizards fall out of love. Some enter the world while others leave. Friendships are formed, minds are changed, and some discover that their family is larger than they ever imagined.A lot can happen in nineteen years...





	1. Fifteen Minutes Later - After the Flaw

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** As of Chapter 9, this series will be moved to The Broomshed and its rating will be changed to RT. 95% of the chapters aren't RT-level, but the other 5% force the move. I'll put warnings into the particular chapter headings that contain RT content.

  
Author's notes:

Thanks to Molly for the beta!

* * *

Fifteen Minutes Later

After the Flaw 

 

 

“Holy…”

 

Ron’s mouth dropped open as he, Harry, and Hermione approached the white tomb of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Ron swallowed as the trio stopped ten feet shy of the tomb.

 

“Wow…” Harry breathed. It was all he could think to say as he saw the massive white marble tomb split in two. 

 

“Really did a number on it, didn’t he?” Ron muttered as Hermione wrapped her arm around his waist and laid her head against his chest. 

 

“With his old wand, yeah,” Harry said, nervously rolling the Elder Wand between his fingers. “Thank God he was such an arrogant berk. I don’t want to think what would have happened if he had been smarter and actually used the wand as he could have used it.” Harry took a deep breath and turned to face the couple. 

 

“Do you want to come see him?” he asked quietly. 

 

“I think it’s something you have to do, Harry,” Hermione replied. “By yourself.” 

 

Harry nodded. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said and walked to the destroyed sarcophagus. As he approached, he saw the outline of the purple-shrouded figure that was once his Headmaster and the closest thing he had knew to a grandfather. He thought he would feel fear, sadness, or shame even, at seeing Dumbledore in such a state. But as he finally saw the pale, sunken, yet amazingly preserved face, he couldn’t help but smile. 

 

“Hey, Professor,” he said quietly, the stick of elder still moving between his fingers. “I brought your wand back. Thought you’d want it more than I would.” 

 

Harry reached down and, barely flinching at the coldness of them, lifted Dumbledore’s hands just long enough to slip the wand back between them and place them back on his lifeless chest. 

 

“We won,” he explained. “Voldemort was defeated. He’s not coming back. But,” Harry chuckled despite himself, “I suppose you knew that already.” 

 

Harry reached up to Dumbledore’s face and re-adjusted the glasses that had gone slightly askew either from when he was first entombed or when Voldemort invaded this sanctum just weeks ago. 

 

“I feel like I should be saying goodbye,” he said. “But, hey, ‘goodbye’ means never again, right?” Harry readjusted the purple velvet shroud and pulled his wand, his own phoenix and holly wand, from of his back pocket. 

 

“So I’ll just say ‘See you later,’ how’s that sound?” he said, smiling. “Till then, go ahead and rest, Professor. You’ve earned it. _Reparo._ ” 

 

Harry’s wand moved slowly up the torn seam of the shroud, and it resealed itself over Dumbledore’s face. Finishing that, he took a step back and placed his hand on the white marble, now warm from the morning sun. 

 

_Death is the next great adventure,_ Dumbledore had told him one morning six years ago. And he could believe that now without a heavy heart. 

 

He closed his eyes and thought of Dumbledore, a snow-white owl perched on his shoulder, standing at King’s Cross with that small, kindly smile on his face. He carried no baggage, nor did those standing around him, boarding the train. 

 

Colin Creevey. Fred Weasley. Remus and Dora Lupin. Ted Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, and Dobby. Even Peter Pettigrew, who, in the end, earned his place in line by saving Harry and his friends that night that now seemed so long ago. 

 

He saw three faces he knew well looking out of a compartment window, waving at the arriving passengers; James Potter, Lily Evans-Potter, and Sirius Black smiled and yelled something down to the crowd, beckoning all to join them. 

 

And Severus Snape, who stood beside Dumbledore, waved back. There was a smile on his face that Harry barely recognized. His hair still hung long around his face, but no longer carried the greasy look that it had for so many years. His black robes were gone, replaced by robes of green and silver. There was a golden phoenix pinned to his lapel. And he was happy.

 

Harry removed his hand from the stone, and replaced it with his armed hand, the wand pressed against the wall by his palm. _They may be gone from this earth_ , he thought, _but we’ll see them again soon enough._

 

“It’s over,” he repeated. “You can rest. _Reparo_.” 

 

As he spoke the words, he felt a wave of warmth flow through the wand. The marble walls pushed themselves upward, resealing themselves around Albus Dumbledore until they looked just as they had the day of the funeral last summer. 

 

_We’ll see them again,_ Harry thought as he turned back to Ron and Hermione. _But in the meantime, we’re not alone._

 

Harry snorted quietly as he walked back to the couple. From the moment that the battle had ended, it was like a floodgate had burst between them. When they were sitting in the Great Hall, the two had been holding hands. By the time they had reached the tomb they had their arms around each other’s waists. 

 

And now… 

 

“ _Hem, hem_ ,” Harry said in his best Umbridge imitation. Ron and Hermione broke from each other in surprise, and they looked guiltily at Harry as they realized he had seen what they had been doing. 

 

“Sorry,” said Hermione, brushing her wild brown hair forward to cover her red face. 

 

“No problem,” Harry smirked. 

 

“It was,” she strained, “um…” 

 

“A comfort kiss!” Ron blurted out, and Hermione nodded vigorously in agreement. 

 

Harry burst into laughter at the sight of their nervousness.

 

“You all right, mate?” said Ron, his ears beet red. 

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry replied, tears of laughter rolling down his grinning face. “Really…” 

 

“You sure?” Ron said carefully. “Shouldn’t we, like, say a few words?” 

 

Harry laughed again, looking back to the tomb. “Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak?” 

 

Hermione giggled, covering her mouth with the hand not currently wrapped around Ron’s midsection, and Ron’s mouth broke into a twitch of a smile. 

 

“Dumbledore already had his funeral,” Harry continued as the three walked back toward the castle, Hermione walking between the two men. “I think he’d consider this more of a victory celebration.” 

 

“Hear, hear!” Hermione trumpeted and, to Harry’s surprise, turned and kissed him quickly on the lips. Ron gave Harry a sharp look, one eyebrow raised. _Sister?_ he mouthed as Hermione put her head on his shoulder. 

 

Harry nodded just as vigorously as Hermione had moments ago, still in minor shock from a moment ago. Ron laughed out loud and, taking Hermione in his arms, dipped her into another passionate kiss, which she reciprocated in full. 

 

“You know,” Harry said, shaking his head as watched the pair. “If you really want some alone time, I could… I don’t know… go make some excuses for you, or something.” 

 

He waited for a few seconds for a reply. When none came, he continued. “You know, since Mr. and Mrs. Weasley might be wondering where we went off to. I could tell them you needed to… umm…” 

 

Harry’s voice trailed off weakly. _So this is what it looks like when six years of sexual tension hits the fan,_ he thought, sighing. 

 

“Coming up for air any time soon?” he said a little too loudly, which once again caused Hermione to break off in mid-kiss. 

 

“No, no, no,” Hermione gasped, adjusting her robes. “We’re fine. We’ll…” she cleared her throat. “Yes, we’ll come back with you, of course!” Her arm flailed behind her as she smacked Ron’s traveling hand. “Won’t we, Ron?” 

 

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Ron said quickly, although Harry wasn’t sure Ron even knew what he was responding to, as he continued to stare at Hermione’s face. “We’ll do the… the thing...” 

 

“Yes, of course, the… the thing…” Hermione’s brow furrowed in confusion at Ron's random comment. She turned back to Harry, smiling encouragingly, but the grin quickly fell from her face as she looked past him. “Actually,” she chirped, “I think we _will_ take you up on that offer, Harry!” 

 

“We will?” said Ron, his face buried near Hermione’s neck, as Harry turned around to look toward the front door. “Thank God, I was just being polite…” 

 

Harry’s phoenix core wand fell numbly from his fingers as he saw the small figure silhouetted in the main entrance of Hogwarts. His heart was racing, and his breath stopped as Ginny Weasley slowly walked down the steps. _Twenty feet away,_ Harry thought absently. 

 

“So!” Hermione said loudly behind him, grabbing Ron’s arm. “We’ll just… be going… away…” 

 

“Wha?” Ron mumbled, looking up for the first time and seeing his sister as Hermione dragged him toward Hagrid’s hut. 

 

Harry and Ginny stared at each other from across the cobblestone walkway. She stood on the first step, pushing her height up to match Harry’s. _Twenty feet,_ Harry thought quickly. _It feels like nothing, and it feels like everything._

 

The silence stretched out between them for what felt like hours, until Ginny finally said, 

 

“Hi.” 

 

“Hi,” Harry breathed. His tongue felt dry in his mouth. _Oh, God, she’s beautiful._

 

“So,” Ginny said, trying to break the ice, but her smile barely cracked her face, “they finally got together, huh?” 

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, his eyes never leaving hers. “About time, too.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ginny said. She paused, took a deep, shuddering breath. “I saw them leave the table, and you were gone.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

“I thought you three had left again,” she continued, her voice wavering slightly. “Thought you had gone off on another secret mission.” 

 

“Not secret,” Harry said quietly. “No more secrets. We’re not going anywhere. The mission’s over.” 

 

Ginny’s hands were clutched in front of her waist. “I never got to say goodbye before you left the wedding…” 

 

“I know,” said Harry, his heart stopping. “I would have sent a Patronus… but…” 

 

Ginny looked down at her hands. Harry dared to take a step forward. 

 

“You must be furious with me,” he said. 

 

Ginny nodded, her eyes still cast downward. “I must be,” she whispered. “I kept telling myself that all year. I must be depressed because you broke up with me. I must be angry after you disappeared from the wedding, not knowing where you had gone. I must be furious that you didn’t come to help us when the Death Eaters took over the school. I must be…I have to be, because I didn’t know if you were going to ever come back. And it would be easier to cut you out of me if I hated you.” 

 

Harry’s heart froze at the words. 

 

“I kept telling myself that,” she continued. “But I kissed you on your birthday. And I saw you, even behind the Polyjuice Potion, at the wedding. And I saw you when I stepped into the Room of Requirement tonight. And I saw you dead…” 

 

“Ginny…” 

 

“And I knew that I could never feel that way about you,” said Ginny, looking up at last, her amazing brown eyes filled with tears. “I could never hate you. I love you too much…” 

 

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but words never came out. His feet were too busy running towards her; his eyes were too busy watching her red hair fly back as she leapt down the steps and his arms were too busy wrapping themselves around her. 

 

Their lips met, and it was more than he had ever imagined during those long nights in the musty tent, more than he ever dreamed would happen again as he sat beneath the stars outside Godric’s Hollow, the moonlight letting him watch Ginny’s dot on the Marauder’s Map. It was a kiss that sent sparks through him, made his heart blaze in his chest, and their time spent in her bedroom last summer seemed like a shadow, a breeze, compared to this moment.

 

After what felt like no time at all, and an eternity, he pulled his lips away and looked into her eyes. 

 

“I love you,” said Harry, and knew in his heart that it was right, that it was true. That this was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. 

 

“I love you,” Ginny replied, smiling as tears streamed down her cheeks, and he knew that she felt the same. 

 

“I’ll never leave you again,” he said as she hugged him, her scarlet hair brushing against the scar of his forehead. 

 

Ginny’s hands ran through his hair, her tears wet against his cheek. “You never did,” she whispered. “You were always with me.” 

 

“And you were with me,” Harry said. “Always.” And he kissed her. He kissed her even as Ron and Hermione, faces blotchy and hair messy, peeked their way around Hagrid’s hut to make sure that no blood had been shed. Kissed her even as the Weasleys came to the door, wondering where everyone had gone off to. Mrs. Weasley gasped, grinned from ear to ear, and made to start running toward them, but Mr. Weasley put a hand on her shoulder before she could even make her move. 

 

“Wow,” Percy said as Arthur gave Molly an understanding look. “Ginny and Harry, huh?” 

 

“Well,” said George, patting his brother on the shoulder, “you have a lot of catching up to do. Break it up everybody!” he yelled to the rapidly expanding group of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs behind him. “Nothing to see here, move it along, get your peep shows somewhere else!” 

 

Through all the commotion, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley never separated. 

 

And they never would again.


	2. Three Months Later - Our Little Wilkins

  
Author's notes:

Although the first names of Mr. and Mrs. Granger are of the author's creation, and Brian Matthew is a real personality, all other characters belong to JK Rowling. The lyrics for _While My Guitar Gently Weeps_ were written by George Harrison. _Sweet Caroline_ was written by Neil Diamond. _Do You Believe In Magic_ was written by John Sebastian.

Thanks to Molly for the beta!

* * *

Three Months Later

Our Little Wilkins 

 

_Good morning, avids," the scratchy voice of Brian Matthew intoned over the small kitchen radio. "First up today on 'Sounds of the Sixties' is Dee Clark with 'Raindrops,' a Billboard top hit from 1961. After that, we'll have 'It Only Hurts When I Cry,' a song from the 1965 movie 'Beach Blanket Bingo' and performed by Donna Loren, and follow that up with the Righteous Brothers 'Unchained Melody,' a 1955 Todd Duncan tune which was covered by the group in 1965 as a B-side for their single 'Stuck on You,' and, obviously, became the more popular of the two."_

_"Ah, I love that song," Charlotte Granger said as she poured a cup of tea from the stove. She was an attractive blonde woman, though slightly overweight and with a large overbite. "Always takes me back... Brian doesn't play it nearly as much as I'd like."_

_"Well, that's Brian, isn't it?" her husband Daniel said as she adjusted her night gown and sat down next to him at the kitchen table. "He loves playing the stuff that even we've never heard of...doesn't play the hits as often as he could. What's a seven-letter word for 'Psychopharmacologist Presciption?"_

_Charlotte leaned over Daniel's shoulder and squinted at the crossword puzzle in front of him. "What letters do you have?"_

_Daniel Granger took a sip of his own tea before pointing to the line with the tip of his pencil. "One blank... an 'I'... two more blanks... another 'I'... then two more blanks."_

_"Hmm... not very helpful, is it?"_

_"It's 'Lithium,'" said a voice from the hall. Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked up to see their only daughter walk into the kitchen, already fully dressed in jeans and a lilac t-shirt._

_"There's your answer," Mrs. Granger said matter-of-factly as Dan leaned forward and studied the line in question._

_"Are you sure?" he said. "It sounds familiar, but..."_

_"It's used to treat bipolar disorder," Hermione explained quietly, her back to them as she dug through the icebox. "It increases serotonin synthesis and decreases the release of norepinephrine."_

_As she turned around to face them, she saw Mr. Granger staring at her with a dumbstruck look on his face, while Charlotte just smiled proudly._

_"It's also a Nirvana song," she continued quietly. "The one Cousin Phillip bribed that awful band into playing at..." her voice choked off in mid-sentence, her face turning red as she turned around toward the sink to peel her orange._

_Daniel took it as just Hermione trying to remember the event and piped in. "Uncle Gavin's wedding!" he snorted, shaking his head._

_"See?" said Charlotte as she stood up and kissed him on the bald spot of his otherwise curly-brown scalp. "There's not a question in the world our Hermione can't answer." She turned back to her daughter. "Good morning, dear."_

_"Morning," Hermione said, still leaning over the sink, trying her hardest to look away from her mother as she poured a third cup of tea._

_"Have you started packing yet?" Mr. Granger asked, returning to his puzzle after scribbling the answer into the squares._

_"I'm done, actually," Hermione said, throwing the orange peels into the rubbish bin. "Didn't take long, most of my things were still packed from Hogwarts, I only had to do my laundry."_

_"And your dress?" Charlotte asked. "The one for the wedding?"_

_"Packed as well," Hermione replied._

_"On top of things, as usual," Mrs. Granger said, winking. "Well, it should be a lovely time. I can't wait to see it."_

_Hermione's fingers went slack and she dropped her orange into the sink. "What?"_

_"The wedding, silly," Mrs. Granger said, motioning over to the calendar where an invitation identical to the one Bill and Fleur had sent Hermione, Harry, and Luna hung, hand-drawn fairies fluttering around its silver and gold paper. "We got the invitation six months ago. I thought they would have told you."_

_"No..." Hermione breathed, her eyes focused on the invitation. "No, they didn't..."_

Why didn't I see that there before? _Hermione thought._ I must have been so busy making plans for everything else... How could I have missed that? 

_"Don't worry about it, Hermie," Mr. Granger said. "We'll only be there the day, and I promise we'll spend most of our time with Molly and Arthur. We'll leave you, Ron, and Harry to your own during the reception. You're of age, we won't smother you."_

_"How is Harry, anyway, dear?" asked Charlotte. "Are he and Ginny still dating?"_

Oh, God, _Hermione thought, barely putting her orange in a small bowl before covering her mouth with her hand._ Please stop talking. Please don't make this harder... 

_"Hermione?" Charlotte asked, looking down at her daughter's face. "Are you alright?"_

_"And be sure to write us when you get to school," Daniel said, still looking at the newspaper, oblivious to his wife's concern. "Your grandmother is planning on taking a trip to Italy next June, I want to make sure that--"_

_"Daniel," Charlotte said shortly, and he stopped and looked up. "What's wrong, dear?" she asked Hermione, whose eyes had begun to well up with tears._

_"Mum..." Hermione sobbed, and immediately lunged at her mother, wrapping her in a hug that nearly knocked her over._

_"Hermione?" Mr. Granger said, standing up and walking to the pair. "What is it?"_

_"Can we go into the den?" Hermione asked quietly. "Make ourselves comfortable? I need to talk to you about something..."_

\---------

Two tall men flanked Hermione Granger as she walked along in the August sunset, studying the line of houses across the street from a string of railroad tracks. She looked up at the taller of the two men and asked,

"You're sure this is the right place?"

"It is," Kingsley Shacklebolt replied, glancing down at the parchment. "Rupert Street."

"Not much to look at, is it?" Ron Weasley said, wrinkling his nose.

"It's perfect," Kingsley said over Hermione's head. "Nymphadora's contacts did a good job setting this up."

"How do you figure?" Ron asked as Hermione slipped a slightly trembling hand into his.

"If you're trying to hide someone," Kingsley explained, looking up occasionally to read the numbers on the houses, "you don't put them into a large city, a large commercial district. You'd think it would be easier to get lost, but that also means more eyes peering you at you, remembering your face, even on a subconscious level. You don't put them in the middle of nowhere. That leads to little villages where everyone knows your name. You really don't want many people knowing your name, knowing your face. The last place that people think of to look for protected individuals are places like this, little, indiscriminate suburbs. Mostly industrial, hard-working folks that keep to themselves, rotating in and out so often that they don't get to know anyone."

"Which leads us to Tottenham," Hermione said quietly, the Melbourne suburb that shared the name of their escape route from the wedding a year ago. She had told Ron and Harry that it was just a busy place, the first place she could think of. But even through the terror of that first night she was still thinking of her parents.

"This looks like the place," said Kingsley, pointing to a small, two-story flat. "Are you ready for this, Hermione?"

Hermione took a deep breath and felt Ron's reassuring hand squeeze hers. "Yes, I think I am," she said. "Thank you for coming with us, Mr. Shacklebolt."

Kingsley shrugged, a small smile crossing his face. "Memory revival's a difficult thing," he said. "I'm happy to pick up where Dora left off."

"But still..." Hermione said as the trio walked up the front driveway. "I mean... to pull yourself away from the Ministry and all..."

"I'm just an interim," Kingsley said, laughing. "I may know my Auror stuff, but I'm still trying to pick up on all the details of running the Ministry. Percy knows how to handle things; I'm comfortable leaving him in charge for a few hours."

Ron snickered to himself, still trying to break the habit of brotherly dislike that had plagued the Weasleys for the better part of three years.

"Besides," Shacklebolt continued, pointedly ignoring Ron's outburst, "you helped defeat Voldemort, helped save the wizarding world. I figure the least the country can do in gratitude is allow me to accompany the two of you."

Hermione blushed, and she looked up quickly at Ron to see that his ears had turned red at the compliment. "Well," she said, squeezing Ron's hand as she looked down at her feet, "I appreciate the gesture."

Kingsley smiled, nodded to the two of them, and took two steps back before Hermione realized that they had reached the front door. She looked back at the interim Minister of Magic, who held his hand out as if to say go ahead. She looked up at Ron, who smiled reassuringly and shrugged.

Hermione breathed in, lifted her finger, and held her breath as she pushed the doorbell. She heard a pair of footsteps on the other side of the door, and began bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet as nerves began to take over.

The door opened.

"Can I help you?" the woman who answered the door asked.

"Hi," Ron said, "are you Mrs. Monica--?"

But his prepared speech was cut short as he saw a bush of brown hair fly past him, straight into the woman standing across the doorway.

"Mummy, you're alive!" Hermione cried in relief as she hugged Charlotte Granger. Charlotte looked down at her, and gave a very bewildered look to Ron.

"Hermione!" Ron whispered, grabbing a hold of Hermione's shoulders and pulling her away.

Charlotte looked up sharply, her eyes narrowing. "Excuse me...?" she asked.

Hermione quickly glanced at Ron, her face blazing red. "Sorry," she said quietly. "It's not like she'll remember it anyway..."

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Mrs. Granger asked, gazing distrustfully at the pair. "What was that?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Hermione said, continuing to look down at her feet. "Is your husband home? Wendell?"

"No. He's not." Charlotte looked back at Kingsley, her face clearly showing that her patience was growing thin. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Can we come in, ma'am?" Ron asked, putting on his best professional voice. "It's terribly important."

"Why?" Charlotte asked, her lip curling in a small sneer of anger. "What's so terribly important that this girl decided to nearly tackle me and call me 'Mummy'?"

"Ma'am, if we could just come in," Ron repeated. "We can explain everything inside."

"No, I don't think you will," snapped Mrs. Granger. "I don't know you. I don't see any badges, so it must not be anything dangerous. All I see are a couple of teenagers who must be up to something, and a very intimidating man behind them. None of which I'm willing to let into my house."

Hermione and Ron exchanged nervous glances. Hermione, in particular, looked extremely strained as she had rarely heard her mother talk with this kind of tone.

"So if you're trying to sell something," Charlotte continued, her voice growing louder, "I'm not interested. If you're trying to pull some prank, it's no good; I already remember your faces to give to the police. If you're robbing the place, I have a security system that I can press at any time and have the police here in five minutes. So, please, stop trying to hug me and shove off..."

" _Stupefy!_ "

"No!" Hermione yelled as a blast passed between her and Ron and connected with Charlotte Granger's chest. As Charlotte crumpled to the ground, unconscious, Hermione spun around to confront Kingsley.

"What are you doing?" she screamed as he stepped over the body and into the house.

"Grab her feet, Ronald," Kingsley said calmly, slipping his arms under Mrs. Granger's armpits.

"That's my mother you just attacked, you...!" Hermione yelled, trying to push Kingsley, but finding no give in his strong body.

"We'd have to stun her for the memory modification anyway," he said as he and Ron carried her into the den and laid her on the couch. "This is much easier than attempting to break in."

"But..."

"Close the door."

Hermione instinctively did as she was told, then quickly whirled back on him. "Mr. Shacklebolt..."

"Hermione!" Kingsley said, standing up straight and stepping toward her. "You must realize the situation. To modify someone's memory, to tell them that they're someone that they're not, can be difficult. They might not be willing to let it happen. But to re-modify someone's memory, to revive someone's past, is exceedingly difficult. They don't remember who they were. They don't remember why it happened, what or whom they're being protected from. They will not want to have their memory modified, because they don't believe that it's a fake life to begin with. They see us as a threat and they _will_ fight back. That's why we do it quickly, do it quietly, do it safely."

Hermione looked down at her unconscious mother, and Kingsley could see her chewing her lip nervously.

"Hermione," he said quietly. "You knew what you were getting into when you did this. It's almost time for it to be over."

Hermione nodded, her gaze never wavering from the body on the couch. Ron was looking at the unconscious woman as well, but for a different reason. His brow was furrowed in thought.

_When Hermione hugged her_ , he thought. _When I pulled her away...I saw something in those eyes_.

_Was it recognition?_

\---------

I look at you all; see the love there that's sleeping,

While my guitar gently weeps 

_"Oh, God, what am I doing?" Hermione's voice trembled as she glanced down at the book on the coffee table and up at her unconscious parents, trying her best to block the BBC from her hearing. "What am I doing?"_

I look at the floor; and I see it needs sweeping

Still my guitar gently weeps 

_She reached over for the notepad and flipped through the pages. Line after line of writing, words she had so meticulously written days, even weeks ago, passed in front of her eyes in a confused blur._

_Melbourne._

_Wilkins._

_Childless._

_"I can't do this," she said, standing up and pacing the living room for the third time since she cast Stunning spells on Daniel and Charlotte Granger a half hour ago. "I can't do this, I can't do this..."_

I don't know why nobody told you how to unfold your love

I don't know how someone controlled you

They bought and sold you 

_Hermione's vine wand rolled between her fingers as her free hand ran through her hair frenetically. "What was I thinking?" she muttered. "I don't know how to do this, this is too much, this..."_

_The doorbell rang, freezing her in mid-step. She quickly realized who it must be, and ran at full tilt toward the front door._

I look at the world and I notice it's turning

While my guitar gently weeps 

_"Oh, thank God!" Hermione cried as she saw the bright pink hair on the other side of the entrance._

_Nymphadora Tonks quickly raised her hand. "What name did you say I should give my first daughter?"_

_"What?" Hermione asked._

_"Answer."_

_"Oh, right, sorry," she responded, forcing her mind to come back from the den. "Ummm... it was Athena, wasn't it?"_

_"Unfortunately, yes," Tonks said, smiling and winking. "Question?"_

With every mistake we must surely be learning

Still my guitar gently weeps 

_"Ginny's favorite face..."_

_Tonks grinned broadly as her nose widened into a pig snout._

_"Now can I let you in?" Hermione asked anxiously._

_"Absolutely," Tonks replied, closing the door behind her._

I don't know how you were diverted

_"You were perverted, too," Tonks sang. "I love George Harrison. Always the Beatle no one gave two shakes about but, God, he was brilliant. He's my dad's favorite, too, although Mum can't stand Muggle rock."_

_As Hermione stepped back into the den, she got a look at her parents again and gasped as though she were seeing them for the first time._

_"Which, now that I think about it, sounds an awful lot like Fraggle Rock," Tonks continued as she followed Hermione in. "Ah, well. Are they modified? I have the stuff to make their new passports and..."_

_"Not yet..." Hermione whispered._

_Tonks looked at her warily. "They're not?"_

_"No," Hermione continued, her wand continuing to roll in her fingers. "I thought I could do it, but..."_

_"What happened?" Tonks said, quickly walking over to Hermione's father. "Did something go wrong? Did you accidentally give them a wipe?"_

_"No, no, it's not that..."_

_"_ _Lumos," Tonks said as she pulled out her wand, pulling open Mr. Granger's eyelid and waving the wand in front of his pupil. "His reactions seem fine. What happened?"_

_"Nothing happened," Hermione said quickly, kneeling down beside her. "I just... am I doing the right thing?"_

I don't know how you were inverted

No one alerted you 

_Tonks let Daniel's eyelid drop and then sat down on the carpet. She looked at Hermione with understanding and also with, Hermione thought angrily, a little bit of pity._

_"Hermie..." Tonks said quietly._

_"That's my Dad's name for me," Hermione said, staring hard at her father as tears once again rose close to the surface._

_"Sorry," Tonks responded. "I won't use it again."_

_Hermione shook her head. "It's not that... it's just... I can't stand to think that he won't remember that name... remember my name... remember his name..."_

_"He will," Tonks said patiently. "You've read up on this. You had to have, or else you wouldn't have made this decision to begin with. You know how temporary memory modification works. The memories they have of being Daniel and Charlotte Granger won't disappear like they would with permanent Memory Charms. They'll just be buried deep, so deep that not even a Legilimens like You-Know-Who could get to them."_

_"But we'll be able to bring them back again..." Hermione said quietly, trying hard to reassure herself._

_"Yes, you will," Tonks said. "Have you made the Imprint yet?"_

_Hermione shook her head. "I've... it's been difficult..."_

_Tonks sighed, but nodded her head. "I understand."_

_"But I can..." Hermione quickly continued. "I mean, I know how to do it, it's just..."_

_"Would you like me to do it for you?" Tonks said, glancing down at her wristwatch. "We don't have a lot of time, the plane leaves in four hours."_

_"Could you?" Hermione said hopefully, hating herself for being so weak, but knowing that, as easy as it was to plan this operation, it was infinitely more difficult to go through with it._

_Tonks nodded again and, raising her wand, drew two glowing circles around the brows of Mr. and Mrs. Granger. They hung there for a few seconds, brightening with each passing moment, before slowly rising to the tops of their heads, shrinking into a glowing ball. The glow faded and two shining jewels, each the size of a golf ball, fell onto the sofa._

_Tonks picked them up and held them out. Hermione reluctantly took them and felt their warmth in the palm of her hand._

_"Those Imprints, imprints of your parents' minds, mean that we can bring them back," Tonks explained. "We use them to sort out the true memories, the true mind, from the false. There's an entire area at the Ministry, in the Witness Protection Agency, where Imprint jewels are kept under lock and key. And these will be kept in safer hands than even those."_

_"Where are they going?" Hermione asked._

_"Gringotts," said Tonks. "There's a vault under joint ownership of every member of the Order, where we keep important documents, artifacts, things like that. It'll be safe there, I promise."_

_"Only members of the Order?" Hermione asked. "But then how can I...?"_

_"Your name's on the list, don't worry," said Tonks. "So are Harry's and Ron's. Ginny, too, although she doesn't become an owner until she comes of age. If worse comes to worse, you'll be able to get in, even if the rest of us are gone." She took another glance at her watch and hissed through her teeth. "If I'm going to do this, I should start now," Tonks said. "You have your notes?"_

_Hermione nodded and reached over to the coffee table, pulling the yellow steno pad down to the floor with them. "What do you want me to do?" she asked._

_"Pack," Tonks said absently, as she flipped through the pages. "You know how to use packing charms, right? It'll make things go a lot faster. Make it look... try not to make it too organized. In case anyone comes looking, we want to make sure they think it was an escape."_

_"Yeah, I can do that," Hermione said. As she listened to her orders, Hermione recognized a part of Tonks that came out so rarely around Grimmauld Place or the Burrow: Nymphadora Tonks, Auror._

_"Find any papers that might be in the house, too. Passports, birth certificates, anything like that. I'm going to make sure they head straight to the airport after they come to, but just in case, I don't want them to see anything that will mess with the charm before it's fully engrained. That includes anything around the house or the car that might have their name on it, or any pictures of you."_

_Hermione's chest tightened at the thought, but she steeled herself and nodded in assent. "How about record albums, or books?"_

_"Not important," Tonks said, pulling out a quill from her bag and scribbling in the margin. "This modification's going to be difficult enough dealing with their past history and the erasure of you. I'm not even going to worry about things like favorite movies, ice cream flavors, whatever. Just find anything Granger, anything Hermione, or anything related to the magic world and bring them here."_

_"Anything else?"_

_Tonks paused, closing her eyes in thought. "No, that should be it," she said. "Now get going and I'll get started."_

_Hermione nodded and, after taking one last look back at her parents, jogged into the kitchen and pulled the calendar, along with the Weasley invitation from the wall as the small plastic clock radio clicked to 8:45._

I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping

While my guitar gently weeps 

\---------

"Should we have a look around the place?" Ron asked. "See what kind of flat your Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins like?"

"Stay here," Kingsley ordered, noticing an appointment book sitting next to the telephone.

"Why?" Ron asked, sitting down in a fluffy chair across from the couch. "We haven't got anything else to do until Mr. Granger comes home."

"Because it's impolite," Hermione said quietly, looking down at her hands. "We're intruding enough as is, I wouldn't feel right..."

"There's nothing in here about Wendell being out of town," Kingsley said, flipping through the book. "Or anything about any doctor's appointments, anything like that. Most likely he's just at the grocers, should be back at any time."

"Good," Hermione said, pulling the two Imprint jewels from her pocket and staring at them. "I want to get this over with."

"It will be easy enough once he gets here," Kingsley said, flipping idly through the pages of the book. "You'll have your parents back before you..." He stopped in mid-flip, his brow furrowing as he read one of the pages.

"What is it?" Ron said, standing up. "Something wrong?"

Kingsley closed the book, keeping his finger in the page, and read the front. 1998 12-MONTH APPOINTMENT BOOK, it stated in gold lettering. He opened the book again and, flipping back to the page in question (September 15th), re-read it, then looked up at the two teenagers.

"This can't be right..." he said.

"What is it?" Hermione said, standing next to Ron.

"September 15, 2:30 PM," Kingsley read. "Dr. Andrews. Check-up for Hermione..."

"What?"

Before he could say another word, Shacklebolt was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

"Monica!" the voice of Daniel Granger said jovially from the entryway as the door closed behind him. "I'm back!"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance, and Hermione noticed that Kingsley was once again pulling his wand from his robe.

"I bought some mint chip ice cream for dessert," Daniel said as he turned the corner into the den, one hand cradling a bag of groceries, "and some bananas for... Who are you?"

" _Stupefy!_ " Shacklebolt shouted, pointing his wand at Mr. Granger. Instinct got the better of Daniel, though, and he was able to dive out of the way, the jinx missing him by inches.

"Dad!" Hermione screamed.

"Who are you?" Daniel screamed as he hid behind the chair where Ron had been sitting minutes before. "What did you do to my wife? Where's Hermione? Help! Help!!"

"Mr. Wilkins, calm down!" Ron yelled.

"Dad, please calm down!"

"Where's Hermione?" Daniel continued to holler. "I swear to God, if you hurt her..."

"What's he talking about?" asked Ron to Hermione and Kingsley. "What does he mean, 'Where's Hermione?'"

"Stand up!" Kingsley yelled, his voice booming authority. "Stand up, Wendell Wilkins, right now!"

"Take whatever you want, just don't hurt them!" Daniel cried from behind the chair.

"We won't hurt them if you would just stand up!"

Daniel Granger stood up slowly, staring at the trio with a mixture of fear and hatred.

"Now," Kingsley said, his voice lowering. "If you would just calm down for..."

"Who are you?" Mr. Granger asked, glancing over at a small end table next to him, perhaps wondering if he'd be able to pick up the decorative vase in time to throw it at his attackers.

"We're here to help you," Hermione said.

" _Stupefy!_ " Kingsley said, and this time, the jinx found its mark. Mr. Granger's legs buckled under him, his head hitting the table as he fell to the floor, the vase shattering on the ground a second later.

"Oh, God, Dad," Hermione moaned, running toward him. She pulled out her wand and was preparing to deal with small cut on his forehead when an ear-splitting wail erupted from somewhere in the house.

Ron and Kingsley both looked around anxiously. "Security alarm?" Ron asked.

"No, I disabled it when we came in," Kingsley said.

The wail took a breath and then continued its onslaught.

"Is that...?" Kingsley muttered, walking slowly toward the stairs.

"Oh, no..." gasped Hermione.

"Ummm..." Ron stammered as the baby's screams continued to echo through the house. "This... this complicates things, doesn't it?"

He looked nervously over at Hermione, whose wand fell from her hand as she fainted on top of her father. 

\---------

_"That was Dick Dale & The Deltones with 'Miserlou,' as performed on a 'A Swingin' Affair.' A great piece taken from an otherwise horrible television show in 1963. Before that was 'Time Is On My Side' by Irma Thomas. Coming up on 'Sounds of the Sixties'..." _

_"I think I have everything," Hermione said as she walked back into the den. In her arms was cradled a rather large box with various papers and picture frames poking out haphazardly._

_"You're sure?" Tonks said as she stood up from the floor and rolled Daniel Granger onto his side. "Even the locked up papers?"_

_"Yes," Hermione said anxiously. "I...It took me a few minutes to get into their safe, but then I remembered to use an_ _Alohamora." She mentally chastised herself for that, something as simple as using a spell would have normally come to her right away without her having to waste time trying to figure out the combination._

_"Good thinking," Tonks said absently as she pulled Daniel's wallet from his back pocket. "Grab your mother's purse, would you? We need to swap driver's licenses, library cards, things like that."_

_"How are you coming on the...?" Hermione asked as she walked to the front door to find Charlotte's bag. She cut herself off, still not able to really talk about what they were doing to her parents yet._

_"Almost done," Tonks said. "Just need to get a seal in place and get everyone comfy cozy. Then we should be ready to go."_

_"Here you are," said Hermione, setting the purse down on the coffee table next to the notepad, on which she noticed Tonks' scribbled handwriting jammed into every available space between her notes._

_"Okay, then," Tonks said, rubbing her hands together. "This should probably take another five minutes, ten tops. Just long enough for you to go and get changed."_

_"I'm already dressed, Tonks," Hermione said, bemused. "I've been ready to leave since six a.m."_

_Tonks looked over at Hermione, sliding her eyes up and down at her t-shirt and jeans, and shook her head. "I'd suggest something a little more comfortable."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"How do I put this...?" Tonks said, tapping the tip of her wand on her chin. "How do you think Harry would feel if he had to try to cram himself into those jeans?"_

_"These wouldn't fit him. He's too... oh..." Hermione said with dawning comprehension._

_"Unless you're planning on stripping in front of him before you drink that Polyjuice, you'd probably be better with something more along the lines of a baggy sweatshirt and pants. A pair of pajama bottoms, something like that. And sandals, not trainers; his feet are a lot bigger than yours."_

_"Good idea," Hermione said, turning toward the stairs._

_"Oh, and, um..." Tonks said, a little more delicately. "What are you wearing underneath?"_

_"Umm, a bra? Knickers?"_

_"Might want to go commando. I guarantee Fleur will be. Bloody Veela," she muttered under her breath._

_"Yeah, I suppose those would probably hurt a bit, too," Hermione said, blushing slightly. "Pinching."_

_"There is that," Tonks said with a grin. "We'll also be sparing Harry the trauma of seeing what he looks like in a pair of your lacy unmentionables."_

_Hermione, who was only wearing a simple set of white cottons, nonetheless had a mental image of Harry Potter dancing around Gryffindor Tower in her underwear and couldn't help breaking into a smile, the first she'd had since she woke up this morning._

_"Once you and the other five start changing, it won't be anything that Harry doesn't see in the shower, he'll be fine," Tonks said reassuringly._

_But what about me? Hermione thought, her face turning eight shades of red._ _It's not anything I've seen before. Any of it..._

_"Besides," Tonks said, leaning in, "just tell Ron that you're not wearing anything underneath, it'll drive him nuts."_

_Hermione felt like her face was going to burst into flame. She had hung out with Tonks on many occasions in the past few years, but this was the first time that anything regarding boys had come up, especially anything regarding what Tonks must have recognized as that tension between her and Ron Weasley._

_She stood rooted to the floor, debating whether or not to ask Tonks about that line of thought or just bolting upstairs to avoid the same conversation when a familiar guitar riff started up on the kitchen radio._

Where to began, the man sang, I can't begin to knowin’

But then I know it's growin' strong 

_"This song," said Hermione, turning to the kitchen. "My dad... it's one of our favorites."_

_Tonks looked up at Hermione. "Who is it?" she asked. Her father had given her some exposure to Muggle music; the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and Led Zeppelin, mostly, but this was the first time she had heard this melody._

_"Neil Diamond," Hermione said quietly. "He's an American. 'Baby In Blue Jeans,' 'Cracklin' Rosie.' Good singer."_

Was in the spring and spring became the summer

_"It's catchy," Tonks said haltingly. "I'll have to borrow it from you sometime."_

Who'd have believed you'd come along

_"He used to sing it to me when I was little," Hermione said, and Tonks noticed that tears were once again flowing down her cheeks. "When he was in a good mood...or when he was putting me to bed. Sometimes...just in the middle of the kitchen, we'd dance with each other. He'd always put my name in there, because he knew I'd get frustrated with him. 'Those aren't the right words, Daddy!' I'd always say... and he'd always laugh and kiss my forehead..."_

Hands 

_Hermione sniffed deeply and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand._

Touchin' hands

_"I'm going to go change," she whispered and ran upstairs, running away from the music._

Reaching out

_Tonks turned back to the Grangers, and thought it over quickly._

_It shouldn't take too much, Tonks decided, waving her wand around Daniel Granger's head. Just a little feeling of déjà vu whenever he hears the song. Like he's missing someone, even if he doesn't remember who or why..._

Touchin' me

Touchin you...

\---------

" _Hermione Caroline Wilkins_ ," Kingsley Shacklebolt read from the pink photo album he and Ron had found in the upstairs nursery. " _Born May 5th, 1998_."

" _Sweet Caroline_ ," Hermione sang under her breath, her voice shaky. " _Bum, bum, bum..._ " She was sitting in the chair across from the couch where Ron had lifted her after she had passed out. A glass of water was clutched in her hands, and she could see the ripples along the top; her hands were shaking worse than her voice was.

"May fifth," Ron said, pacing around the living room, cradling the baby _(My sister_ , Hermione corrected herself with a splash of dread) and patting her on the back. "She's been around for four months..."

"And it would put her date of conception at late July or early August," Kingsley said, continuing to flip through the pages of the book, studying the still, non-magical photographs with a detective's eye.

"Not long after they left England," Hermione moaned, the glass shaking violently. "Oh, God..."

"Hold her..." Ron said quickly, holding out baby Hermione to Kingsley. Shacklebolt hesitated, looking the baby up and down, then put the book down and took her from Ron's hands. Ron then quickly ran to Hermione and kneeled down beside her.

"Calm down," he said soothingly, taking the glass from her hand, which he set down on the table next to the Imprint Crystals and put his hands in hers. "It's going to be okay."

"You have to admit," said Kingsley, "it will make a convenient cover story. If any of your extended family wonders why their holiday ended up taking over a year..."

"God, this wasn't supposed to happen," cried Hermione. "How could this happen? I mean..."

"I think I could guess as to how it happened," she heard Kingsley say, but her eyes never left her hands.

"We know how it happens, thanks, Kingsley," said Ron sharply, carefully watching Hermione.

"That's not how I meant it, Ronald," he continued. "I'm just guessing that Wendell and Monica Wilkins, childless throughout their entire marriage, finally fulfilled their dream of moving to Australia. They arrive and are happy they're here. So they feel like it's time for their next life goal. They start asking themselves, 'Why don't we have children yet?' So they start up fairly quickly, and name her 'Hermione' because they think it's a nice name for a girl."

"But... but they didn't _want_ any more," Hermione said, her voice shaking. "They tried for years after I was born, but eventually decided that they were too old to be starting over again. They're in their _fifties_..."

"Age doesn't matter, believe me," Ron said, running his hand through her hair. "My mum would probably want to pop another Weasley out tomorrow if Dad hadn't gotten fixed after Ginny was born. You can see it in her eyes whenever Teddy's around."

"What am I going to do?" Hermione asked him, her eyes and voice almost pleading.

"We'll figure something out," he said, leaning in so their foreheads touched. "We always do."

"Um, Ronald..." Kingsley said. Ron and Hermione looked up to see him holding the baby at arm's length, looking at her slightly cross-eyed. "Do you think you could take her back? She doesn't seem to like me."

"That's because you're holding her wrong," Ron said as baby Hermione started crying. "Here, give..." He stood up and held his arms out.

"Sorry," said Kingsley, gratefully handing her over and wiping his hands absently on his robe. "I've never been good with kids."

"Just takes practice, that's all," said Ron, and baby Hermione stopped crying almost immediately as he cradled her to his chest.

"You're good with her," Hermione said, smiling despite herself as a wave of affection flowed through her toward the man she had only kissed for the first time a few months ago.

"Yeah, well..." he shrugged. "It's not like I haven't been paying attention on those nights when Andromeda brought little Teddy over to the Burrow."

Hermione nodded. She and Harry had both been splitting time between Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place and the Burrow since the battle had ended at the beginning of the summer. Unfortunately, there had been very few nights when her visits coincided with babysitting the Lupins' orphaned son, so she hadn't ever seen this side of him.

"Besides," he said, bouncing the girl on his arm, "when you're a Weasley there's always a second cousin or someone's great-great niece to take care of at family gatherings. I don't think there's a one of us who doesn't know how to change a diaper."

"But, still," Hermione said quietly, "it's good to know you have it in you."

Ron looked down at her and smiled. _That could be us someday_ , Hermione thought. _He could be carrying one of our own like that._ She suddenly the urge to just jump up and kiss him, kiss him and do whatever else, damn whatever Kingsley thought, hit her so strongly that she had to tear her gaze away from Ron's eyes.

Kingsley seemed to sense the sudden change in the room too, because he cleared his throat a little too loudly and said, "So, what we have to decide now is what to do about this little hitch in our plan. There are plenty of routes we can take. The easiest and most obvious would involve a second memory modification. Make Mr. and Mrs. Granger believe that they planned to have this child all along, had it, and raised it here in Australia while the three of you were off saving the world. Everyone knows what you were up to, Hermione, so we won't have to worry about making people believe that you were here with them anymore."

"That does sound like the easiest option," said Ron, but Hermione shook her head.

"It can't be that way," she said. "My parents have been living a lie, a lie that I created for the past year, just so that they could be protected...so that _I_ could be protected. I couldn't live with myself knowing that they would be living another lie for the rest of their lives just because I didn't write a line in my notebook about them not wanting children."

"Are you sure, Hermione?" Kingsley said. "It would be simple enough..."

"There have been too many secrets, too many lies," said Hermione. "My family deserves better than that."

"Okay," Kingsley said, sighing, "That still gives us a few more choices. Some of which we can eliminate right away."

"We could tell them she's ours?" Ron said, and withered at the look Hermione gave him. "Sorry, just brainstorming."

"And that would be one we can eliminate," Kingsley said quickly. "There's a possibility that ten, twenty, thirty years down the line, Hermione Caroline would find out that Ronald isn't her biological father and that her genetic code doesn't match Hermione's as closely as it would if she were her real mother."

"Her what code?" Ron asked, dumbfounded.

"Muggle science, nothing important. Also, it's a story that would fall apart as soon as Charlotte went to the gynecologist and he tells her that her body is showing signs of a recent birth, especially if she had a c-section. She would deny it, and then the authorities would get involved. A gynecological exam would also eliminate putting the baby up for adoption."

"There are already enough orphans from this war," Hermione said flatly and felt the tears beginning to well up again.

"Which leaves two choices," Kingsley said. "The first of which is doing what we had planned all along. Bring Mr. and Mrs. Granger back. Explain what has happened in the past year. Tell them about the child. See what happens from there."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She had no idea how her parents would react to knowing that the past year of their lives had been stolen from them and that they had been given a new obligation in the meantime. Probably not well, at all. Thoughts of her father, getting on in years, dropping dead of a heart attack or a stroke from the shock of everything flew to the front of her thoughts. Her mother screaming, crying, knowing that they can't afford another daughter, that their lives were ruined. Images of disownment; being thrown out the door, her baby sister in tow, being told to never come back, that she was dead to them.

"And what's the other option?" she whispered, knowing the answer already.

Kingsley sighed sadly. "The last option is permanent memory modification. Let them live their lives as Wendell, Monica, and Hermione Wilkins. Use the Imprint crystals to Obliviate any remnant of Charlotte and Daniel Granger from their minds, any remnant of England."

"And my family?" Hermione asked. "My grandparents? My aunts and uncles?"

"They only know that you three went on holiday," explained Kingsley. "After your parents left, we sent a couple letters to cover their tracks. After the Ministry fell, we sent a few more, telling your grandparents that your holiday was being extended. Didn't explain why, didn't say where you had gone. It would only take a few more letters, a few more documents, to say that the three of you don't exist anymore. Died in an accident, a house fire, something along those lines. We can transfigure some convincing bodies, if the need arises; it's something we Aurors have to occasionally do in our line of work. And as for you, Hermione, you could just disappear. Sever most of your connections to the Muggle world. Maybe even modify Wendell and Monica's memory a little more. Make you, I don't know, a niece who likes to come visit her aunt and uncle on holiday occasionally..."

"Kingsley," Ron said. He was looking at Hermione, whose head was in her hands. She had begun to shake uncontrollably. "I think the baby might need to lie down. Mind going to get a blanket from the crib upstairs?"

Kingsley stopped in mid-thought, looking between the two of them with dawning understanding. "Of course," he said. "I apologize."

"It's fine," Ron said. "You're an Auror. It's your job."

"Ronald..."

"Just... just take your time, yeah?"

Kingsley nodded and slowly walked up the stairs. Ron readjusted baby Hermione in his arm and walked back over to Hermione. With his free hand, he touched the top of her head, running his fingers soothingly through her hair and she responded by reaching out, blindly and desperately clutching his leg. She pressed her face into his thigh, and began to sob.

"Oh God," Hermione cried, her voice muffled. "I screwed up, Ron. I screwed things up so badly..."

"No, you didn't," Ron said quietly. "You made the right choice."

"It's not looking like it from here."

"It is from here," Ron said. "They're alive. We're alive. After the Death Eaters saw you at the Lovegoods, they would have come after your parents just like they went after Neville's gran. Bringing them here, keeping their names out of it, probably saved their lives. Probably saved ours, too, because I know we wouldn't have been able to go on if we knew they had been captured. The three of us probably would have staged some sort of half-assed rescue operation and gotten ourselves killed in the process. We're Gryffindors, we're noble and stupid that way."

Hermione felt like she needed to protest that, but knew that she couldn't. If she had learned her mother and father were under Death Eater control, she would have gone to any length...

"Do you... um..." Ron said bracingly, "do you want to say hello to your sister?"

Hermione pulled her face away from Ron's leg, a wet patch developing on his jeans from her tears, and looked up. After a few seconds' thought, she nodded slightly, realizing that she had barely looked at the child in all the time that the three of them had been talking, like if she didn't acknowledge her presence, then she really wasn't there.

Ron bent down to one knee and carefully removed baby Hermione from his shoulder. Hermione took the baby and set her on her knee, propping her up from behind with one hand. Hermione Jean and Hermione Caroline studied each other's faces in what Ron could only describe as awe.

Then young Hermione began to laugh, and old Hermione smiled.

"Hi, there," she said, tears coming forward again. "Hi Hermione, I'm your sister..."

"Guess we'll have to straighten the name thing out somehow," Ron said. "Might get confusing."

"She's beautiful," Hermione whispered wetly as the baby began to grab for her bushy brown hair. "She's got... she's got my Dad's eyes, his nose. Oh, look," she said, running her hand gently over the scalp, where some hair was beginning to come in, "she's blond like my Mum. They said I was the same way when I was a baby, but I darkened, maybe she will, too..."

"She's got your smile," Ron said, still kneeling down beside them.

"No, she's got my Mum's smile..."

"You both have the same smile," said Ron, putting his hand on her leg. "I noticed it the first time I met your parents at Diagon Alley."

"But we were twelve," she said, smiling. "You were studying me even back then?"

"Something wrong with that?" Ron said defensively.

Hermione's smile faded as she looked back at her sister. "What do you think I should do?" she asked Ron.

"I can't answer that," he said. "It's your life. It's your family."

She turned to him and, before she knew it, she was kissing him. Her free hand clutched at the back of his neck as she pulled him tight to her. Their tongues met briefly, and he could feel the wetness of her tears on his face. His hands ran through her thick brown hair and, for a moment, they were lost in each other.

After what felt like an eternity, Hermione pulled away, but leaned her forehead against his, her palm still against the back of his freckled neck. "You are my life," she whispered. "And I want you to be a part of my family."

"Is that a proposal?" asked Ron, smirking.

Hermione shook her head. "Not here, not now," she said. "Proposals can wait. Besides, I'm old-fashioned when it comes to this kind of thing. Why do you think I didn't ask you to the Yule Ball myself?"

"I could give a few reasons," said Ron. "First among them being I was a major prat fourth year. And fifth. And sixth. First through third, now that I think about it..."

"I want you to ask me someday," she said, looking into his eyes. "Just know that I'll say yes."

"I'll mark a spot on my calendar," he said, and this time it was he who kissed her.

"Ahem," Kingsley said from the bottom of the stairs, a blanket draped over his arm. Ron and Hermione pulled away from each other, and Ron suddenly knew how Harry and Ginny must have felt about him on Harry's birthday. He had a strong desire to Stun the interim Minister of Magic for a few more minutes.

Hermione must have felt the same way, too, because she wore the same look that Ginny had worn that day. She stood up and carried the baby to the blanket, which Kingsley had spread on the carpeted floor.

"So, what do you think I should do?" she asked Ron as she lay Hermione down and sat down next to her with her legs crossed.

"Well, just so we're clear that you're only going to put my opinion in with the rest of your thoughts, and not leaving me to make the final decision."

"Since when have I ever trusted you to make the final decision on anything, Ronald Weasley?" she said, but was smiling when she said it.

"Good point," he said, smiling back.

"So," she repeated. "What do you think I should do?"

\---------

Do you believe in magic in a young girl's heart

How the music can free her whenever it starts 

Merlin's pants, Brian _, Nymphadora Tonks thought as she made the final adjustments on Charlotte and Daniel._ Why does everything you play today have to be so damn appropriate?

_As she pulled Daniel's arm across Charlotte, she heard a set of footsteps on the stairs. The Lovin' Spoonful cut off in mid-word as Hermione shut off the radio in the kitchen._

_"Ready to go, girl?" Tonks called._

_"I think so," Hermione replied, walking into the den. "How do I look?"_

_Tonks sized up Hermione's baggy sweatshirt and pajama bottoms, her bushy hair now pulled back in a braid._

_"Yeah, that'll definitely work," she said._

_"They look comfortable," Hermione said as she looked down at her parents. Her father was now lying on the couch, Charlotte nestled against his chest, his arm around her shoulders. "Almost like they fell asleep that way."_

_"Well, that's the point, isn't it?" said Tonks. "Not a bad job, if I do say so myself. They wake up in an hour, discover that they somehow fell asleep watching..." she turned on the television with her wand, "the morning news. Their schedule to get to the airport will be tight, but luckily they packed their bags last night and they're sitting right in the entryway. By the time we get out of Gringotts and to the Burrow, Mr. and Mrs. Wendell Wilkins will be boarding their flight bound, with a short layover in Hong Kong, for their new lives outside of Melbourne, Australia."_

_"Sounds... good," Hermione said, leaning over to kiss her mom on the cheek. "Stay safe," she whispered. "I'll be back for you soon."_

_"Have the box? And the Imprints?" Hermione nodded, took one last look back at her sleeping parents then followed Nymphadora Tonks out the door, locking it behind her._

_"We'll make the trip to the bank as quick as we can," Tonks explained as they walked down the front path. "We're meeting up with Ron and Arthur at the Burrow, but we won't see Remy or any of the others till we actually reach Surrey. Hestia and Dedalus are picking up the Dursleys in a few hours, so we can't move until we know that they're out of the house. But, God, it'll be nice to see Harry again. Can't wait to show him the ring..."_

_She turned to look at Hermione, who had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Tonks thought she might have been crying, but she saw that although Hermione was looking back at her house sadly, her eyes were dry._

_"They'll be okay, Hermione," Tonks said quietly. "You made a good decision..."_

_"How do we do it, Tonks?" Hermione asked, her eyes never leaving the house. "How do we witches and wizards live our lives, knowing that someone could change everything we've ever known with just..."_

_Tonks sighed and put her hand on Hermione's shoulder. "My dad's lived on both sides of the world," she said. "Just like you will, just like Harry will. And he says that magic doesn't solve the world's problems. It just replaces them with different ones. Magic can cure disease, regrow severed limbs, create something out of nothing. But it also puts a dangerous weapon in the hands of everyone over the age of eleven. A weapon that can destroy cities, create unspeakable horrors, kill another person with just a thought. It gives us the safety that comes with being able to fight injustice. It gives us the freedom to travel anywhere in the world by spinning on our heel. But it can also take a person's mind, take a person's body, take a person's soul. There's a reason the Statute of Secrecy exists, and it's because humans can't believe that magic doesn't fix everything. So, no, we can't know that we're safe in our own minds. That we won't wake up in another country, or wake up believing that we're a Death Eater, or that we're in love with someone we didn't know existed when we went to bed. We can't know that we won't wake up thinking that we're a chicken. All we can do is trust. Trust ourselves. Trust our friends. Trust our family. Believe that they have the best intentions, and that they would do anything to keep us from harm. And to know in our hearts that we'll do the same for them."_

\---------

Hermione Wilkins squealed in glee as the glowing silver otter swam around above her head. She reached and swatted at the silver terrier as it sniffed and licked her face.

Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, their Patronuses keeping watch on the child, stood hand in hand behind Kingsley Shacklebolt as he performed the final incantations on Wendell and Monica Wilkins. The two Imprint crystals he had held in his hand had long since disappeared.

"That should be all," he said, standing up and putting his wand back into his robe.

"So what now?" Hermione asked. "When do they wake up?"

"The Stunning Spell wears off in about an hour," Kingsley said. "But it can be safely removed at any time. I just figured you'd want to do the honors."

Hermione nodded, took one last reassuring glance up at Ron's face, and pulled her vine-and-dragon-heartstring wand from the back pocket of her jeans. She stepped forward as Kingsley took a counter-step back, now next to Ron, who patted him on the shoulder.

Hermione took a deep breath in, and when she exhaled it shook with her tight nerves.

_Trust yourself,_ she thought. _Trust your family. Know that they would do anything to keep you from harm, and that you would do the same for them._

She touched the tip of her wand to Charlotte Granger's forehead.

" _Rennervate_."

Charlotte's eyes opened as Hermione touched Daniel Granger's forehead.

" _Rennervate_."

"Hermione?" Mrs. Granger said murkily.

"Did the spell work?" Mr. Granger asked, his voice sounding just as groggy. "Didn't you just... oh, wait, I guess it did." He looked around the living room, realizing quickly that they weren't in Oxford anymore.

"Yes, it worked," Hermione said. She looked up at Ron, who nodded reassuringly and put his hand on her shoulder. "It's been a year," she said carefully to her parents.

Mrs. Granger's jaw dropped. "A _year_? I was only expecting a few months, at most. And where are we?"

"A little over a year, actually," Hermione continued, her confidence falling by the second. "And we have a lot of things to talk about, a lot of things to catch up on. But first... ummm..."

She heard a soft cry as Kingsley picked up Hermione Caroline and carried her over to the family.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet."

As Daniel and Charlotte Granger got their first look at their second daughter, Hermione saw what she had expected in their faces: shock, confusion, a complete and total loss for words.

What would come after that, she didn't know, and she steeled herself for whatever would come.

But she saw familiarity in their faces... like they had seen this child before, if only in a dream.

And Charlotte Granger smiled.

 


	3. Eleven Months Later-Scrubbing Bubbles

  
Author's notes: This chapter contains RT-rated content.  


* * *

Eleven Months Later

Scrubbing Bubbles

 

 

 

The blond mermaid looked up from her rock as the password was spoken and the door opened across from her. It had been a few weeks since anyone had visited and she waited to see who would be with her today. As the seconds ticked by without anyone crossing the threshold, Gshlk (the name, nearly unpronounceable in the human language, was one she had been given long before she had become immortalized in this painting centuries ago) strongly resisted the urge to call out. 

 

For one, she only knew very little of human language, and she had only known a few humans in all of her years at Hogwarts who had spoken Mermish. Whoever she called would not answer back. 

 

Besides, she was allowed to hang in this room under the explicit instruction that she was not to interfere or interact with any of the humans who used the pool beneath her. It had been explained to her many times over that most humans, especially the calves that populate the building, are very modest when in the water or when cleaning themselves. It had much to do with the fact that they were draped in those horrible furs almost all the time and did not like to be seen without them. 

 

Gshlk had difficulty believing how this could be. The furs were ungainly. Billowing. Even in the warm summer months, they would be worn in multiple layers. How could one walk or run with those hindrances? How could they fight, or evade capture, with those sails slowing them down, allowing others more surface to grab, to pull, to impede? She could not even imagine a Mer attempting to swim in such devices without being dragged to the wild Grindylows. 

 

Yet time after time, year after year, when the young humans attempted to use her pool, they would only reluctantly remove the furs, constantly looking around as though they were in danger of being seen. Indeed, many of the calves throughout the years would not even remove all of their garments before washing. They would wear strips of fur around the area where their legs started ( _their genital area_ , Gshlk had been told) or around the mammaries, even as they swam through the water. Some would even wear one large fur that covered their midsection along with the other two areas. How they thought to get clean when half of their body was covered remained a mystery to Gshlk. 

 

_How could they see themselves in that way?_ Gshlk thought as she stared at the door, her tailfin slapping impatiently against the warm rock. _The humans are a beautiful race when unwrapped. After many years of watching, I could see how many of my kind would become infatuated with them, despite their unscaled legs._

 

_I wonder whatever happened to Rslchk and her human man…_

 

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” 

 

Gshlk’s ears perked up. There was a human voice. But she couldn’t see anyone in sight. 

 

“You thought it was a good enough idea when we were in the common room.” 

 

Was that a second voice or merely the first voice again? Humans sounded so alike, she could barely tell the difference. 

 

“Yeah, well…” 

 

“In fact, your exact words were ‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. I’ll go get the Invisibility Cloak and we’ll get out of here.’” 

 

Still, no bodies. Perhaps one of the wandering souls was playing a trick on her. It seemed like something that Pivs would do. Only, Gshlk assumed, she would have been pelted by water sacs or bars of soap by now if that had been the case. 

 

“Or were you just flirting when you said you wanted to take a bath with me?” 

 

Perhaps Nk? Thabaron? Fafrr? 

 

No, this didn’t seem like anything they would do. They were all fairly serious souls. They would have shown themselves by now. 

 

“Well, I didn’t know we were actually going to go through with it. I’m not a prefect, and you’re Quidditch captain now. I’m not even allowed in here anymore.” 

 

The door closed on its own. 

 

_Maybe Miirtl?_ She would have made her presence known. She always did whenever she came into the prefect’s bathroom, whether Gshlk wanted her company or not. 

 

One of the downsides of being a mermaid in a frame was that you couldn’t travel from painting to painting without legs. She was a captive audience, and Miirtl knew it. 

 

“That didn’t stop you when you were trying to figure out the second task, did it?” Suddenly, two bodies appeared out of thin air, one clasping a shimmering swatch of fabric. 

 

_Are they of the same gender?_ Gshlk thought as she studied the two. It was her job to alert the mature humans if any males and females came into the bathroom together. Unlike the Mer, humans had no mating cycle. The matures believed that this pool would be a prime area for mating, as it was a secluded spot, as well as being one of the few areas in the school where calves were allowed to remove their furs without punishment. 

 

“Well, what about security alarms?” the taller of the two asked. “We’re not allowed into the girl’s dorms. How do we know that there aren’t similar triggers in here?” 

 

Gshlk did not see a problem with the mating. To the Mer, maturity was the only qualification for calf- rearing. If a Mermaid could physically rear a calf, if a Merman could physically impregnate a Mermaid, then Mercalves happened. However, she could see the dilemma that faced the matures if their female charges were distracted from their education by delivering calves. 

 

Besides, Gshlk didn’t want to lose her position in the painting any time soon. 

 

“I haven’t heard any screams,” said the shorter human. “Not yet, anyway.” She winked at the taller figure, whose pale face turned beet red, nearly matching the color of the shorter one’s long hair. 

 

Gshlk squinted, attempting to determine their gender. The furs made it exceedingly difficult sometimes. Many of the females had large enough mammaries where they were noticeable through all of their layers. Neither of these seemed to be bulging in the chest. But she might see something poking from beneath the shorter one’s red and gold wrappings… 

 

_Better safe than sorry,_ she thought and took a deep breath, preparing to scream out. Her Mermish vocal cords, evolved through millennia to carry sound through even the murkiest water, would be heard all the way to the office of Gngl, the new Head Mature of the school now that Dumbledore and the other one were gone. 

 

“I think she’s seen us,” said the tall one, his hair dark and messy. He was looking directly up at Gshlk’s painting, and her breath caught in her throat as she got a better look at him. 

 

The striking green eyes, framed by black metal circles…the crooked scar on his forehead, visible even through the dirt and grime that covered his face.  This was the boy (now a man, she saw) who had come into her pool four years ago, the second one to carry the Golden Egg. She had pretended to be asleep then, but even through her veil of hair she had been able to see him. He was one of the Champions. 

 

This was also the boy, Miirtl had gleefully told her last summer, who had not only vanquished the previous Head Mature from Hogwarts, but had also defeated The Black Human himself. 

 

There were two names in human tongue that Gshlk knew well. 

 

Dumbledore was one. 

 

And Harrypotter was the other. 

 

So the other one must be one of his companions. It wasn’t the tall Weeslee Boy, who had come in here quite often two years ago. Her initial guess must have been correct. Those were mammaries, small though they are, beneath the furs. 

 

This must be one of Harrypotter’s females, the ones that Miirtl loved to mock and ridicule as often as she could. 

 

Lunie? No, the hair was too dark. From what she had been told, Lunie’s hair nearly matched her own. 

 

The other one, the one whose name was too difficult for even Gshlk to put into a Mermish context, that female had also come in on occasion two years ago, but ceased after Miirtl became a constant bother (something about a juice and a feline, but Gshlk knew nothing of that and did not wish to ask). That one had dark hair that puffed up when it wasn’t wet, while this one was straight and tame. 

 

This one must be the Weeslee Girl, the one that Miirtl had spoken of with more venom in the past three years than the other two girls combined. The one who, by all accounts, was Harrypotter’s Promised. Gshlk chided herself for not making the connection sooner. The Girl’s hair matched the Weeslee Boy’s so much, she guessed that they must be birthed from the same female. 

 

She was quite beautiful, as well, although her face and furs were just as covered in muck as Harrypotter’s was. She was far from a calf, as well on her way to maturity as he was on his own current. Gshlk decided she could find herself infatuated with both Harrypotter and the Weeslee Girl if she watched them for too long. 

 

Gshlk debated calling Miirtl. She loved Harrypotter so. She would want nothing more than to come and see him again. 

 

Gshlk decided that she didn’t want to put Harrypotter through such irritation, and struck the idea from her mind. Besides, he had vanquished The Black Human. Gshlk may be punished later if anyone found out about her indiscretion, but for now she would let him be. Consider it her gift to the Champion and his Promised. 

 

She lay down on the rock, wondered if they would not mind if she watched them while they bathed, and fell asleep on her crossed arms. 

 

\---------

 

“See?” said Ginny as she folded up the Invisibility Cloak. “She’s not going to bother us, we’re fine.” 

 

“I suppose you’re right,” said Harry, shifting the pile of clean clothes to his other arm and locking the door to the hallway. “It looked like she was going to start hollering for a minute there. Must have changed her mind.” 

 

As Ginny wandered around the edge of the bathtub, Harry got a look around the prefect’s bathroom. Despite his status as Quidditch Captain two years ago, Harry had never come back after his initial experience during the Triwizard Tournament. It was, however, just as he remembered it. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting light from eternal candles across the floor and the pile of towels and bathrobes in the corner. There was a diving board at the far end of the room that hung over the deep end of the tub. The tub itself (the word itself being taken to the extreme, as this particular basin could pass for a small lake in most of the United Kingdom) was surrounded by practically hundreds of shining nozzles, which Ginny was turning on and off one by one. 

 

“I can never remember which ones are the good ones,” she said as the faucet she was clasping poured out gobs of what looked like pink shaving cream. 

 

“Yeah, I’m sure they’d take some getting used to,” Harry said, putting the pile of clean clothes next to the edge. “I just sort of played with them and found whatever filled the tub when I was in here. I just needed to get the egg underwater; I wasn’t too concerned with anything else.” 

 

“I only got in here a few times last year,” said Ginny as green gel erupted from the next spout. “One of the rule changes that Snape put in place was that the bathroom was only accessible to prefects and Captains in good standing.  So basically, just the Slytherin prefects and any Captain whose team was in the lead in the Quidditch standings.” 

 

“Not too biased at all…” 

 

“Yeah, not after the Carrows took over reffing the games. Their love for Slytherin was equal only to their hatred of Gryffindor. I got in here once, and that was only because Ernie let me in after they won their first match of the season and had a technical lead in the standings. Oh, for God’s sake!” she growled as a jet of water skipped across the pool. “I don’t want fancy. I just want hot and soapy, can you give me that?” 

 

“Ernie let you, did he?” said Harry. “I didn’t know he was on the team last year.” 

 

“Yeah, he was one of the few Hufflepuffs who wasn’t afraid of them. Ah, there we go.” Clear steaming water poured out of the faucet, and Ginny stood up to stretch. 

 

“You two didn’t…” Harry stammered. “You know…” 

 

“Oh, yeah, we had loads of wet, naked fun,” boasted Ginny. “It’s amazing what some of these faucets can do… of course we didn’t.” She put her hand on her hips. “Ernie was just being a gentleman, like he always is. He knew that the Carrows had it out for my team and decided to give me a break after Neville, Luna, and I tried to break into Snape’s office. So he let me in, closed the door behind me, and went on his way. From what I hear, he did the same for them, too, and for the rest of his team.” 

 

“Just checking…” Harry said, kicking himself for asking. 

 

“You honestly didn’t think that, did you?” 

 

“No, of course not.” 

 

“Because you _know_ there was no one else. I’ve told you that.” 

 

“I know,” Harry said, shrugging. “It’s just… you know me. Self-confidence has never been my strong suit.” 

 

Ginny snorted, but stepped toward him. “I’ve known you for eight years, watched you argue for a hundred theories, whether you knew they were right or not. Confidence has never been your problem, Mr. Potter.” 

 

“With women it has been,” said Harry, blushing slightly. “Anyway, we should probably hurry up. We left the party pretty suddenly.  Ron and Hermione might start wondering where we…” 

 

Ginny was inches from him now, and he could smell that flowery smell, even through the dirt and grime that covered her from the Quidditch pitch. She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and pulled him down to her. Their lips parted as she kissed him softly. Harry forgot what he had been saying. 

 

“My team just won the Quidditch Cup,” she whispered, her arms still around him. “I’m smelly, I’m bruised, I’m covered in dirt. So is my Seeker. I haven’t had any time alone with my boyfriend that didn’t involve looking over my shoulder, checking my watch, or being _very_ quiet under his Invisibility Cloak. So let’s just forget about Ron…” 

 

_Peck_

 

“Forget about Hermione…” 

 

_Peck_

 

“And let’s just be alone for a while. Okay?” 

 

Harry nodded, his vocal chords feeling completely paralyzed as he felt Ginny’s body press against his. He bent down to kiss her, but straightened as a sudden realization hit him. 

 

“We might not be alone,” he said, looking around the room. 

 

“What are you talking about?” said Ginny. “The door’s locked.” 

 

“Yeah, well,” Harry said, pulling his wand out of his pocket. “Just to be sure… _Spiritum Revelio!_ ” 

 

The wand failed to do anything. 

 

“Well, that’s a start,” he said, looking around the large bathroom. 

 

“What are…?” Ginny repeated, then stopped. “Oh. Right. Myrtle.” 

 

“I can try casting some protection spells,” Harry thought aloud. “They should work in the school, because we’ve been able to use _Muffliato_ for years. But I don’t know if any of them work for ghosts…” 

 

Ginny shrugged, a small smile crossing her face. “Give it a shot.” 

 

“Yeah…” Harry said, suddenly feel like he was on stage. He walked around the outside of the tub, just as he and Hermione had done back when they were setting up camp. “Umm… _Protego Totalum_ … _Cave Inimicum_ …” 

 

He heard some rustling behind him and redoubled his efforts. 

 

“ _Muffliato_ … Hmmm… I suppose they’re magical… _Salvo Hexia_ … ummm… _Repello_ … _Repello_ … _Repello_ _Spiritum_?” 

 

“Is that even a spell?” Ginny asked. “Or are you making it up?” 

 

“I don’t know,” he said, turning around. “We used one for Muggles, so in theory…” 

 

His words died in his throat. Sparks flew from the tip of his wand as it clattered on the marble floor. 

 

“You really should be more careful with that,” Ginny teased as she pulled down her knickers. “You keep dropping it every time you see me.” 

 

“Well, you do have that effect on me,” he said, his mouth suddenly dry. Ginny bent down to put the panties on top of the rest of her folded up clothing, and stood back up, completely nude. 

 

“It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before,” she said. 

 

“Bits and pieces, yeah,” said Harry. And it was true. When they were alone in an area where they might be walked in upon, their clothes stayed where they were. When they were under the Cloak, he had once or twice risked unbuttoning her shirt, letting his fingers run along the edge of her bra, pulling down the cup to play with her hardened nipple. On one particularly frenzied occasion, Ginny had unzipped his fly and reached inside his underwear. He had responded by lifting up her skirt and pulling her knickers down to her knees, allowing a brief glimpse of pale red hair before their eyes were closed again, lost in each other’s kisses. But this… “I haven’t seen… umm… everything…” 

 

Ginny blushed, and Harry watched as the red traveled down past her neck, stopping just shy of her small freckled breasts. He saw a bruise just under her right shoulder blade, most likely from that errant Bludger around the ten-minute mark, and another on her left thigh. “Well?” 

 

Harry smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so wonderful…” 

 

She giggled. “You flattah me, suh!” she said in her best American Dixie accent, and dove into the pool. Harry watched as she went completely underwater, her pale back and red hair gliding effortlessly through the suds as she swam a length of the tub before surfacing on the other side. 

 

“Okay!” Ginny yelled, leaning against the edge of the pool, her naked body just achingly out of view beneath the water. “Your turn!” 

 

Harry quickly remembered the second part of this expedition. “Oh, yeah, right,” he said. “My turn.” He cleared his throat and hesitated. 

 

“Do you want me to turn away?” Ginny asked, but Harry shook his head. 

 

“No, it’s fine,” he said, removing his shoes and socks. “I just haven’t done this before.” 

 

“Harry, I can name at least a dozen people who have seen you naked.” 

 

“Actually, no,” he said, pulling off his Quidditch jersey. “You can name at least a dozen people who have seen _copies_ of me naked. Big difference.” 

 

“Well, either way,” Ginny said, wading towards him. “You have no idea how jealous I was when I found out Hermione and Fleur were going to see you and I wasn’t.” 

 

“I thought you said to forget about Hermione?” Harry said, smirking. 

 

“I’ll talk about whoever I want if the end result is me seeing your bare tush,” she said as she crossed her arms on the marble edge and grinned up innocently at him. 

 

“Cool your heels, I’m almost there,” he said, unzipping his trousers and pulling them off. He folded them in quarters and set them to the side. “Glasses on or off?” 

 

Ginny shrugged. “They’re Imperviused. Either way’s fine with me. Hurry up then, one more thing.” 

 

He looked down at his boxers and started turning red. “Right…” 

 

“Do you want me to play some sexy music?” 

 

“Cute…” 

 

“Put a couple Galleons on the table to get a special dance?” 

 

“You know, I think I liked you better when you turned colors and ran to your room whenever you saw me.” 

 

Ginny stuck her tongue out. “See, that’s why I love you,” she said. “You’re funny.” 

 

“Well, prepare to laugh, then,” he said, and, with the air of someone tearing off a Band-Aid, pushed his boxers down to his ankles. The teasing grin that had been on Ginny’s face dropped for an instant as she looked him up and down. It was quickly replaced by a smile that Harry read as loving, impressed, and full of ideas, all in one quick gaze. 

 

“Well?” 

 

“Are you getting in the tub, or aren’t you?” she asked, pushing herself away from the edge to give him room to climb in. 

 

“Do they even have strip clubs in the wizard world?” Harry asked as he sat down on the cool marble and shoved himself in. The water felt incredible on his sore muscles and he could see the dirt float from his arms and face as he submerged himself completely. 

 

“A few, yeah,” Ginny replied as he resurfaced. “I guess most wizards who want to go end up just going to the Muggle ones. Not much of a difference, really.” 

 

“Probably easier than putting a couple Sickles into a girl’s g-string.” 

 

“You _are_ going to drop the nudie bar conversation and kiss me eventually, right?” 

 

“Absolutely.” 

 

And he put his hands to her waist, pulled her to him, and he was kissing her. Ginny wrapped her arms around his chest, and, for the first time, felt their bare skin press against each other. As his hands ran through her long, red hair and as her fingers ran up and down his back, she felt herself responding. She ground her body against him as their tongues danced, feeling her small nipples harden as they were tickled by the hairs of his chest. She could feel him rise against her thigh and knew that he was just as lost as she was. 

 

She forced herself to pull away from his kiss, taking a step back. “We should… umm…” she gasped, her hands and eyes betraying her as they traced his arms and chest, “we should probably just sit for a few minutes…” 

 

“Yeah… yeah…” Harry’s green eyes seeming far away as he gazed down at her, his hands cupping her hips, running along her sides. She let out a small squeak as one of his thumbs, hard and tough from his years of manual labor at the Dursleys, brushed gently against one of her sensitive nipples. “Yeah… sit… sit is good…” 

 

The next few minutes found Harry and Ginny awkwardly groping along the edge of the prefect’s bathtub, using one hand to try to find some sort of outcropping in the marble where they could sit without drowning. Despite their attempts to keep somewhat civil and just take a bath, they both found their hands blindly searching, as their eyes never left each other’s faces and their free hands continuing to search each other’s bodies. 

 

“We should really… just… take a bath…” Harry stammered, gently squeezing one of her breasts. 

 

“Yeah… just a bath… cuz… yeah…” Ginny babbled back, kissing him quickly on the lips before traveling down to his shoulder, his neck, and whatever else happened to be in comfortable reach for her mouth. 

 

Harry was the one who found the seating area. More specifically, the backs of his knees found the seating area and he fell backward, finding a white marble ledge close enough to the surface where he was submerged to his armpits. He looked up to see Ginny gazing hungrily down at him. 

 

“Just… just a bath…” she panted, her fingertips trailing along his neck and shoulder. 

 

“Yeah… just…” he replied, his will slipping away as he watched a lock of wet red hair fall across her flushed, freckled face. “Just… just scrubbing…” 

 

“Just… umm… just… oh, fuck it,” and Ginny fell on top of him. Her legs spread, straddling his thigh, and he kissed her more than he had ever kissed her before and pulled her closer to him until she could barely breathe and still wanted her to be closer and waves went through her as her sex ground against his leg and she could feel him pressed between their stomachs and oh _God,_ he felt so good and so big and so… 

 

“Do you…?” Harry gasped, looking into her eyes. “Do you want to…?” 

 

_Yes!_ Ginny’s brain screamed. _Oh, God, yes, this is the time and this is the place and I’ve been waiting eight years for you to ask that and I want you in me_ now _!_

 

Ginny shook her head, panting. “I want to,” she said. “I really really really really _really_ want to. But not tonight. Some night when we… when we have as much time as we want… and a bed to fall asleep in afterwards,” _just like I’ve always dreamed_ , “ but not tonight…” 

 

Harry nodded, his wet hair barely allowing his lightning-bolt scar to show through. “I can wait for that.” _Because when everyone else was asleep and I was allowed to think of you, that’s how I always dreamed it would happen._ He smiled his smile. “Besides, my wand’s on the other side of the tub, and I haven’t memorized any… umm… protection spells yet.” 

 

“I have,” Ginny replied, feeling her midsection betray her as it continued to slide up and down his thigh. “But if you think I’m leaving this spot, you’re crazy.” 

 

“I seem to be trapped, too,” said Harry, recognizing her movements and moving his hands to her sides to help her move back and forth. “Besides, it’s my first time. I don’t want to disappoint you with a marathon-like five-second display.” 

 

“If it makes you feel any better, I probably wouldn’t last much longer,” Ginny breathed. “But I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to practice.” 

 

“Yeah, lots of practice,” he said, pulling one hand from her hip, sliding a finger across her clit and slipped one finger inside of her, making her cry out because in surprise but it felt _so_ good. Her hand tightened against the back of his neck. 

 

“I take it that’s a good moan?” Harry asked. 

 

Ginny nodded, breathing heavily into his ear. “It’s fantastic,” she whispered. “I can usually fit two, though...” 

 

Harry leaned back, a glint in his eye. “Oh, really?” 

 

Ginny smiled, and a high-pitched note escaped her throat as he did as he was told. “Just something for your cheat sheet,” she breathed, and the hand that wasn’t behind his neck, steadying her balance as she moved up and down on his fingers, slid down his chest and wrapped around him and he gasped as she took a firm grip and moved her hand in time with his and there were no more words only moans and cries and lips and fingers and his mouth found her breast as her teeth found his ear and she was screaming into his and he was screaming into hers and… 

 

“Oh, God… Ginny...” “Harry… Yes… Harry!” 

 

\---------

 

“Can you breathe yet?” 

 

“Just… just a few more minutes…” 

 

They had, in fact, finished, together, fifteen minutes ago. Five minutes later, Ginny had been able to get up enough strength to pull herself off of Harry’s lap and slide down onto the outcropping next to him. Since then, they had been sitting next to each other; Ginny nestled against Harry’s chest, her arms wrapped around his chest, his around her shoulder. Both were still gasping for air. 

 

“That was… really good…” Ginny said for probably the fiftieth time. 

 

“Yeah…” Harry said, kissing the top of her head. 

 

Even this minor display of affection sent chills through her. _Didn’t we_ just _finish?_ she asked her body in response. 

 

“So this is seriously the first time you’ve ever been naked?” she asked. 

 

“In front of someone, yeah,” he replied. 

 

“And it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a naked woman?” 

 

“Pretty much,” said Harry, “except for a few magazines that Seamus snuck into the dorm before Filch got a hold of them. And, you know… the bits and pieces of you…” 

 

“What about Cho? Or Parvati?” 

 

Harry laughed. “You saw me and Parvati at the Ball. We were done with each other before we stepped through the door. And Cho… yeah, we only got one date and a few kisses in. Nothing else.” 

 

“And Hermione?” Ginny asked. She was fairly sure she knew the answer, but needed to hear it just to be sure. 

 

“What about her?” 

 

“You haven’t ever…?” 

 

“Never,” said Harry. “I’m fairly sure everyone in my year thinks that I have, but by the time I was far enough away from the Dursleys to be... well, to allow myself to be interested in girls, I was already too close to her. She was never an option for me.” 

 

“But you’ve never even seen anything…?” 

 

Harry looked down at her quizzically. “What do you mean?” 

 

“You know,” Ginny shrugged, her finger running up and down his chest. “You spent so many months in that tent, I just wondered if…” 

 

“This is Hermione we’re talking about,” said Harry. “Organization’s her middle name, remember? She always changed behind a screen or in another part of the tent. I don’t know if she let Ron see her wandering around in her undercrackers, she never did when I was in view. Heck, I didn’t even see a sock lying around, let alone a bra or anything like that.” 

 

“Okay. Good.” 

 

“Why the sudden interest?” 

 

She shrugged again, and he could feel warmth on his shoulder as her cheek turned red. “You’re not the only self-conscious one in the room. Just wondering if you were… comparing… or anything…”

 

“What?” 

 

“They have nicer bodies than I do,” she said. “Bigger… you know, more… _ample_ …” 

 

“And the past, what is it, two years now hasn’t made you realize that I love you and your body just the way they are?” 

 

“You’re sure?” Ginny said. “Cuz, you know…” 

 

“How about the past twenty minutes? Should I show you the bite marks, or the hickeys?” 

 

Ginny giggled. “Okay, I’ll take that.” 

 

“So what about you, Miss Skeeter?” Harry said. “How does my scrawny self compare to Mr. Corner or Mr. Thomas?” 

 

“Made it about as far with them as you did with anyone,” said Ginny. “Dean was too much of a gentleman; we never got past sloppy kissing in the hallway. Hell, you probably walked in on the worst of it.” 

 

“You mean the night I wanted to hex him?” 

 

Ginny laughed and slapped him on the chest. “You never told me that! Even then…?” 

 

“I didn’t know it until then,” he said. “I had been having feelings for you before that, maybe even years before, but I honestly didn’t even recognize them until I walked away from that scene completely and utterly jealous of him, wishing I was the one who was kissing you instead of him.” 

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she said, bewildered. “I would have dropped him like a bad habit.” 

 

“Gryffindor, remember?” said Harry. “Noble and stupid.” 

 

“We do have that problem, yeah…” Ginny said, chuckling and kissing him quickly on the shoulder. 

 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Harry continued, squeezing her, “but I’m kind of surprised you didn’t get any further. You seemed to know what you were doing a few minutes ago.” 

 

“Which part?” 

 

Harry blushed a bit, pulled his free hand from the water, and wiggled two fingers. Ginny burst into laughter. 

 

“How gentlemanly of you,” she said. “But, um, Seamus isn’t the only one with magazines. Fred and George tried to hide their collection from Mum and Dad as best they could, probably stole a good share of them from Charlie and Percy. But snoopy little Ginny was too smart for them.” 

 

“Research?” 

 

“You could say that,” she said, smiling a little too innocently.

 

“What else could I say?” 

 

“Wellll… you could also say that when I was turning different colors and hiding in my room, I wasn’t just drawing hearts with our initials in them...” 

 

“Other types of research?” 

 

Ginny could feel him shifting beneath her, and she grinned. 

 

“ _Thorough_ research,” she said, teasing him, kissing his neck to achieve full effect. 

 

“Intriguing,” Harry said, his voice desperately trying to keep the high road. 

 

“I can show you my results sometime, if you want,” she breathed in his ear, resisting the urge to climb back on top of him. She took his lobe in her teeth and tugged gently. 

 

“We’ll have to compare notes,” Harry said, bending over to kiss her again, the energy expended not twenty minutes ago coming back in full force. Before she knew it, Ginny had climbed back on top of him, and they were once again kissing, grinding, and groping. 

 

“We should probably… call it a night here pretty soon…” Ginny said, coming up for air a few minutes later before diving back down to meet him. 

 

“Pretty soon, yeah,” said Harry as she pulled away a second time. “But something tells me we’re not quite ready to go yet…” 

 

“A few somethings, by my count,” said Ginny, dunking her hands below the surface and gripping him. 

 

“What do you have in mind?” Harry asked as he sucked in breath between his teeth. 

 

“I don’t know,” said Ginny between kisses on his neck. “I had one idea, but I don’t know if I can hold my breath underwater for that long.” 

 

Harry growled. “I didn’t know you studied Legilimency.” 

 

“Why’s that?” 

 

“Cuz I was just wishing I had brought some Gillyweed with me.” 

 

Ginny gasped as Harry put his hand between her legs. 

 

“Quite a conundrum,” she said, her breathing speeding up. 

 

“One of us is going to have to get out of the water if they want the other to… you know…” 

 

“The marble’s probably really cold,” said Ginny, biting her lip. “You first.” 

 

“You know,” said Harry, “one of these taps makes some really weird foam…” 

 

Ginny looked at him, her eyebrow arched. “The stuff that’s so thick you can lay down on it?” 

 

Harry shrugged. “Could be fun…” 

 

Ginny kissed him. “I like the way you think.” 

 

\---------

 

Gshlk awoke to the echo of the slamming door. She looked around to see that the prefect's bathroom was now empty. 

 

_I fell asleep,_ she thought, chiding herself. _I wasn’t able to watch after all..._

 

She saw pockets of foam floating along the surface of the pool. If she didn’t know any better, Gshlk could swear that there were dents in some of them, large enough to have been made by two bodies lying side by side. 

 

_At least they enjoyed themselves, by the looks of it._

 

“What happened?” came a voice that made Gshlk feel even worse. The pearly-hued soul floated up from the surface of the water, a small pout crossing her lips. 

 

“I heard someone come in,” Miirtl said, crossing her transparent arms. “But when I tried to come up and watch, something was keeping me out. And I couldn’t even hear anything. I sat in the pipe for an hour, it’s not fair. Did I miss anything?” 

 

Gshlk shook her head. 

 

Miirtl huffed, lowering herself down to the edge of the water. “Yeah, right,” she said. “No one ever lets Myrtle see anything. What’s the point of being dead if you can’t float around and do as you please?” 

 

Gshlk sighed and lay her head back down on the rock, disappointed that she had missed the opportunity to break years of monotony. 

 

_Oh, well,_ she thought as she tried to drown out Miirtl’s lamentations. _Maybe they will come back._ Then _I can watch them bathe…_

 


	4. Thirteen Months Later - How to Survive When No One Wants You Dead

As she watched the train station at Hogsmeade pull away from the window for the last time, Ginny Weasley pulled her feet off the floor of the compartment and stretched herself along the length of the bench.

It was finally over. No more classes. No more tests. No more N.E.W.T.s, the results of which she would be waiting for with more than a little apprehension within the next few weeks. She remembered the summer before her fifth year at the Burrow, watching Hermione Granger bounce up and down, flailing her arms and turning herself purple with nerves when her O.W.L.s arrived. At that time, Ginny promptly promised herself not to act the same way.

After all, it’s not like Ginny acted that way when _her_ O.W.L.s showed up the following summer. She had been too busy worrying about more important things. Nights without sleep, nights worrying and praying, were so common those few months that simple performance anxiety felt like a day at the spa by comparison.

Ginny closed her eyes, listening to the _clickety clack_ of the train as it sped toward King’s Cross, as well as the noise of students walking up and down the hallway outside the cabin. As it was on her previous trips this school year, the noise wasn’t nearly as audible as it had been in the past. When last school year ended, she had fully expected a declaration from the Ministry or someone requiring every student to re-take their previous year’s classes in light of the school’s treatment by Snape and the Carrows.

That declaration had never come. Students were given the option to repeat, and most who came back did not take up the option. It was amazing just how much Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, and the others had been able to teach, even under such oppression. Neville passed his N.E.W.T.s with flying colors. So did Seamus, the Patil twins, Ernie Macmillan, and others a year above her.

That wasn’t the only reason that the hallway was empty, though. Many chose to not return to Hogwarts. Even after the fall of Voldemort, there were parents who decided that it was still unsafe for their children to return to school. Dennis Creevey, Michael Corner, Terry Boot, and Lavender Brown were some of the many that had not returned. _And with good reason,_ Ginny thought, recognizing that they had been through some of the worst of what the Death Eaters had to offer last year.

Then there were people like Zacharias Smith who… well, good riddance to bad rubbish.

Things had returned to some state of normalcy at the school in Ginny’s final year. Yet the halls of Hogwarts still felt quiet because of the lack of students. Ginny could have felt lonely, since so many she had grown to love during their years of resistance had left…

“Bloody hell, I’m opening the window,” Ron said. “It’s roasting in here.”

…But there were still some around.

“I wouldn’t suggest it,” Hermione said from next to him, her eyes never leaving her book, _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._ “Pig might think it’s time to exercise, and you’ll never see him again.”

“I don’t think the Hogwarts Express is equipped to run in the middle of July,” Dean Thomas said from Ron’s other side. “Guess that’s what happens when classes start a month and a half later than usual. Do they even _have_ any AC?”

“What’s that?” asked Ron.

This year was different than most years, Ginny thought as she watched her friends talk. Because of last year’s blood purity standard, many students who hadn’t even stepped foot into the classroom had been able to return to the school and take the year that they missed. It had been odd seeing so many eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds in her classes, but she had gotten over it quickly. Especially once she found out who her Potions partner was…

“You okay?” Ginny asked, looking down the length of her body at her boyfriend, Harry Potter, on whose knees her feet were currently propped at the other end of the bench. “You’re kinda quiet…”

Harry turned back from the window, where he had been staring since they found the compartment. He looked down at her, his green eyes shining through his glasses, and smiled nervously.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m… I’m fine…”

“Your leg’s telling me otherwise,” she said, feeling it bounce up and down beneath her.

After the events of last year, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger had all been told that they wouldn’t have to come back to take their seventh year. That exceptions could be made for the three saviors of the wizarding world, and that there would be positions at the Ministry available to them whenever they wished to accept them.

But Hermione, being Hermione, couldn’t turn down the opportunity for more education, even with everything that had happened to her family the previous summer. She had received assurances from her parents that they could handle the newest member of the Granger family without her for a few months, just so long as she came home for holidays this year. So she came to Hogwarts, and Ron, needing both some time away from the Burrow and some extra schooling, followed her. Harry’s reasons, Ginny had learned during their time spent alone with each other the past few months, were more diverse…

“Good God,” Ron said, leaning his head against the back wall and wiping his forehead. “I’m taking my shirt off. No one can stop me.”

“Please don’t,” said Dean quickly. “I’ll give you a cookie if you don’t.”

“I would like a cookie,” came a soft voice from the floor. “I did not know the cart had gone past.”

“Nah, I’m just making it up, Luna,” Dean said. “Anything to keep the pale freckly one from showing off his hippogriff tattoo.”

Ginny snorted laughter, but Luna sat up from the floor, where she had been laying and reading _The Quibbler_. “Ooh, I would like to see that…”

“He doesn’t have a hippogriff tattoo on his chest,” Hermione said patiently.

“Thank you,” Ron said, his ears turning red.

“It’s a puppy frolicking in a field, and it’s in a place only his girlfriend’s allowed to see.”

Dean roared with laughter. Ron gave Hermione a dark look; she responded with a naughty smirk, which he couldn’t help but duplicate.

“Evil,” said Ron.

“At least I didn’t tell them about the Pygmy Puff one,” she prodded.

“Oh, God,” Dean said, wiping tears from his eyes. “I know I should probably be terrified, but…” He snorted laughter, trying to calm himself down.

“Why are we dating again?” Ron asked.

“I just like to see your ears match your hair,” Hermione said, pulling her wand from her bag. “ _Glacio!_ ”

With a flourish of her wand, a blue flame appeared in the air in the middle of the cabin. Ginny was expecting to feel some heat, but was surprised to instead feel waves of cold emanating from the flickering globe.

Ron felt it as well and sighed contentedly as he leaned back. “Ah, I knew there was a reason I asked you out,” he said, taking Hermione’s hand after she put the wand away.

“ _Did_ you ask me out?” Hermione replied. “The way I remember it, I kissed you, and then we were just… you know… together.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Ron said, his brow furrowing. “I suppose we skipped a few steps.”

“Just a few,” Hermione said, looking at Ginny and blushing slightly before turning back to her storybook. She and Hermione had had many conversations over the past school year regarding their new relationships. One of the subjects that Hermione had brought up one particularly deep night dealt with what had gone on between her and Ron in her parents’ living room in Australia.

“But don’t tell anyone,” she had pleaded with Ginny at the time. “I know Ron’s never been good with pressure, and the last thing I need is you, Harry, Dean, or Luna bugging him about it.”

Ginny knew full well that Ron had talked in length with all four of them, along with his father, his brothers, his sister-in-law, each member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and every teacher at Hogwarts, whether they had ever had him in class or not ( _When should I do it? How should I do it? Should it be at a family get-together so everyone can see, or should it be just the two of us? Should I be creative, should I be romantic, should I have Buckbeak give her the ring, or should I just ask her since she already knows it’s coming?_ ).

_The boy’s been going to Hermione for answers all of these years,_ Ginny thought as she watched the two of them. _Now there’s a piece of advice he can’t ask her about, and he’s trying desperately hard to get it right._

Ginny promised Hermione her silence.

“So,” Ron said, breaking into Ginny’s line of thought, “do you want to go out with me, then?”

“Sure, why not?” Hermione said absently, flipping to the next page in her book. “Might be a laugh…”

“Good, good,” Ron said, relaxing. “Got that first question out of the way easy enough. I was afraid I’d have to tell them about the Devil’s Snare tattoo you have around your…”

Before he could finish that sentence, Hermione swung her book around and smacked him in the stomach. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as Dean, Ginny, and Luna all gasped and laughed in the same breath.

“He’s joking,” Hermione said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, I am,” Ron wheezed. “I just like to see your eyes match my hair.”

Hermione, whose eyes probably should have been glowing red, started laughing despite herself, and Ron took that as a sign that he could kiss her without getting his tongue bitten off.

Ginny smiled as she watched the couple, as she smiled whenever she saw the two of them together throughout the school year. This was, like Harry told her earlier, “six years of sexual tension hitting the fan.” But Ginny, having to live with both of them for all these years, seeing how they had been around each other in both good times and bad, was glad to see things finally working out between them.

She turned away and looked back toward the window, hoping that maybe she could get a little bit of kissing in herself, and saw that Harry’s attention had returned to outside the train. It struck her that, after his brief dialogue with her earlier, Harry had not taken part in any of the ensuing conversation, and must have gone back into his own little world. His finger was idly tracing up and down her bare leg (they had all changed into t-shirts and shorts before leaving Hogwarts), but he was otherwise somewhere else.

“Harry?” Ginny asked. “Are you alright?”

Harry nodded, never leaving the window. Ginny pulled her legs away and sat up, sliding across the bench toward him. She reached up and touched the back of his neck, and it was enough to get him to turn to her.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his lightning-shaped scar.

“Is it hurting you again?” Hermione said, pushing herself toward the edge of her seat.

“No, it’s not,” Harry said, seeing the look of worry in everyone’s eye. “Honestly, it doesn’t hurt. It hasn’t hurt at all since last summer.” He took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. “I almost wish it would…”

“What do you mean?” asked Ginny.

“I’m just… nervous.”

“What’s there to be nervous about?” asked Dean.

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “The other shoe, I guess?”

“Not following…” Ron said, leaning forward, blank confusion clearly marked on his face.

“I guess I’m just waiting for something to happen, but…” Harry shook his head. “It’s stupid… Really…”

“Remember who you’re talking to, mate.”

“What’s wrong?” Ginny repeated, more quietly this time. She reached up and slid her fingers gently through Harry’s tussled black hair.

Harry sighed. “The first ten years of my life were spent living in a cupboard under the stairs. Barely given anything to eat, constantly in fear of being beaten up by my cousin or his friends.

“Since then, I’ve faced dragons, basilisks, trolls, Death Eaters, and Dark magicians. I’ve almost died a dozen times over. And then this year happened, and…”

“You’re waiting for someone else to kill you?”

“Luna!” Hermione said, but Harry nodded, and Ginny once again noted Luna’s skill for stating the obvious.

“That’s it exactly,” Harry said. “I mean, there were tests, sure. There was the usual classroom mayhem. Eyebrows disappearing, potions backfiring, whatever. But… There weren’t any mysteries to uncover. No grossly incompetent teachers, or double agents trying to take me down. Hell, I only used my Invisibility Cloak a few times, and even then it was to just…”

He broke off, and looked around as if realizing who was listening to the conversation, and turned beet red.

“To just _what?_ ” Ron said suspiciously.

“Never mind,” said Ginny, her face feeling the same as Harry’s looked. She took a quick glance over at Hermione, whose hand was covering her mouth. Ginny could see a smile breaking through nonetheless, and just knew that she was thinking of some of the juicy details they had shared about some of Harry and Ginny’s liaisons under the Cloak.

Ron opened his mouth to protest more, but Dean, Ginny’s ex-boyfriend, interrupted. “Ron,” he said, “you don’t want to know what your sister’s been up to, and _I_ don’t want to know what your sister’s been up to. So let’s just leave it at that, huh?”

Ron grumbled assent, and pushed himself back as Hermione again leaned forward. “Harry,” she said in her famous matter-of-fact voice, “I’m not going to say that what you’re feeling is normal. Quite frankly, none of us have had normal lives, you especially. But that’s changed now. It’s over. We won.”

“I know,” Harry said. “Like I said, it’s stupid. I’ve been alive for almost nineteen years, and only one of them felt completely safe. And it’s not even a year I remember, except for the end.”

“It’s not stupid,” Ginny said, snuggling herself up next to him and wrapping her arms around his chest. “You’ll feel safe again, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Thanks,” replied Harry as he put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her on the forehead.

“Besides,” she said, walking her fingers along his leg. “It’s not like last year was _completely_ uneventful…”

As she looked up at him, her mind traveled to a certain night after the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff match: just her, Harry, the prefect bubble bath, and enough protective enchantments to keep anyone, living or moaningly dead, from poking their head in. By the glint in his eye, she could tell that he was thinking the same thing.

“Oi!” Ron yelled, noticing their looks as well. “No more staring at each other like that, yeah? I can see the wheels clicking...”

“Hear, hear,” said Dean.

“It’s not like it’s anything we haven’t done,” said Hermione to Ron.

“You don’t know that…”

“Actually, she does,” said Ginny. “I tell her everything, so sod off.”

“You do?” said Harry, tensing up. “Everything?”

“Pretty much, yeah…”

“Calm down, Harry,” Hermione said. “It’s just girl talk.”

“Hermione and Luna are my best friends,” said Ginny. “I tell them everything.”

“Luna, too?” Harry yelped, looking down at the floor.

“Of course,” said Luna, smiling serenely from behind her magazine.

“It’s not a big deal, Harry,” said Ginny. “I mean, you guys talk about it, too, right?”

“No interest in my ex-girlfriend’s sex life, thanks,” said Dean.

“We haven’t had sex, Dean, don’t worry.”

“Still more than I wanted to know,” said Ron. “I didn’t know all this exchange of information has been going on…”

“Not so much of an exchange,” said Hermione. “Ginny only knows the rough edges about you and I. You’re her brother, she wants to know just as little about us as you do about them.”

“Good,” Ron said, wiping sweat from his brow despite the ice flame still floating in the middle of the room. “At least we’re still mostly private…”

“Oh, I’ve been told everything,” said Luna.

“You _have_?” Ginny could hear Ron’s neck crack as he whipped around to face Hermione, who shrugged.

“She’s a good listener,” explained Hermione weakly. “She can be quite insightful, too.”

“It’s all very interesting,” said Luna. “It’s quite fun to listen, although I am surprised that they think I give good advice. I’ve only been one date, with Harry, and the only sexual experience I’ve had are orgasms from my nightly masturbation sessions.”

She paused, as the cabin filled with nothing but the sound of the wheels outside.

“Sometimes more than once a night, depending on what happened earlier in the day. I had four after my date with Harry. Six if you count the two I had when I woke up the next morning. What’s a five-letter word for ‘three-masted vessel’? I have two blanks, a ‘B,’ and two blanks.”

“’Xebec,’” said Hermione automatically.

“Thank you,” Luna smiled, pulling the quill from behind her ear and bending down to the crossword in _The_ _Quibbler_. The other five continued to stare at her in awed silence as the tip of the quill scratched across the paper. After she had written in the word, she looked back up to see them all looking at her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you wanted to hear more,” she said.

“So!” Dean yelled loud enough to make everyone jump. “What’s everyone doing when they get home?”

“I dunno,” said Ron. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Me, neither,” said Ginny. “Just too soon, you know? Give my brain some time to digest everything.”

“I’ll probably go home, say hello to my father, have dinner, and masturbate before I go to sleep.”

“I meant _after_ today, Luna,” said Dean quickly.

“Oh. No, I don’t know what I’m doing, either.”

“What about you, Hermione? Harry?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione sighed. “I know I should probably start thinking about a career, but there’s Caroline to worry about…”

“What’s there to worry about?” said Ron. “She’s healthy. She’s in comfortable living arrangements. Your folks love her; they have since the moment they laid eyes on her. And now that they don’t have to pay for your schooling they can afford to take care of her.”

“I know,” said Hermione. “But… I mean, if it weren’t for my spell, they wouldn’t be burdened by her in the first place.”

“But they don’t see her as a burden, do they?” asked Luna. “They don’t remember her birth, but she still feels like their daughter. They love her just the same as if they had planned it all along.”

“I just feel like I should have _some_ responsibility in bringing her up.”

“And you will,” said Ron reassuringly. “But you’re almost twenty. You have a life to live, a family of your own to start someday. Dan and Charlotte don’t want you to put your life on hold, to live in your little pink bedroom in Oxford until Caroline finishes school. They know you’ll be there for your sister. You just don’t have to, you know, _be there_ be there.”

“Bill started going to Hogwarts the year I was born,” said Ginny. “And moved out right after he finished his N.E.W.T.s. I’ve only seen him during holidays and summers as long as I’ve been alive. But that still doesn’t mean he hasn’t had a hand in who I am.”

“Are they going to be at King’s Cross?” Luna asked Hermione. “I would like to meet them.”

“Me, too,” said Dean.

“Me, three,” said Ginny, and smiled as Harry poked her in the ribs. “Ron’s the only one who had a chance to see little Hermione before the school year, and Harry got to meet her during Easter break. I feel deprived.”

Because of the rescheduled school year, both Christmas and Easter vacations had been one week instead of two. Neither she nor Ron had wanted to leave their family long enough to visit the Grangers, and Hermione hadn’t wanted to leave her own parents after so long apart. Harry, who was living in Grimmauld Place, had received invitations from each family, as well as Neville’s grandmother. In the end, Harry ended up spending most of Christmas with the Weasleys, most of Easter with the Grangers, and two days with the Longbottoms during both vacations.

“Yes, they’ll be there,” said Hermione. “I told them that I could easily Apparate home, but they insisted on picking me up.”

“That should be fun,” said Luna. “I like babies.”

“What about you, Harry?” Dean asked. “You’ve become the silent one again…”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I have a lot of thinking to do, I guess. I have a job at the Ministry waiting for me, and they said I could go through Auror training while working there. But… I don’t know. There’s just something about working for the Ministry that gives me the creeps.”

“But it’s been cleaned up, Harry,” said Hermione. “Kingsley’s in charge, he’s running it right.”

“I know,” said Harry. “But still, I’m not sure if I want to get back into the whole crime-fighting thing. Just because I feel like bad things _should_ be happening to me doesn’t mean I want run out and find them.”

“There’s Quidditch,” said Ron. “You got invitations to try out for all those local teams, you and Ginny both?”

“Yeah, a few.” Ginny knew that Harry was being modest. He had, in fact, received letters from almost every team in the league over the course of the school year, requesting his services as Seeker. Of the thirteen teams in the British and Irish Quidditch League, the only one not represented in his pile was the Holyhead Harpies, the all-female team and one of the three teams, along with Chudley and Portree, which Ginny herself had received invitations from.

“Well, why not?” said Ron. “You’ve always said it’s what you’re best at. What you enjoyed doing the most when we were in school.”

“It’s an option,” Harry replied. “But I know those teams. So many of them already have Seekers who are better than I am. I’m sure most of them are just asking me to try out because they know it’ll mean more publicity, more ticket sales, to have The Chosen One on their squad. Kind of pathetic, if you think about it.”

“Well, you’re going to have to work eventually,” said Hermione. “Sirius left you your house, and your parents left you an inheritance, but it will only last so long. The cost alone of doing a full renovation on Grimmauld Place will be astronomical.”

“Yeah, and I’m not planning on having you mooch off my modest paychecks your whole life, either,” teased Ginny.

“I will, I will,” said Harry impatiently. “Believe me, the last thing I want to do is sit on my ass the rest of my life. Actually, I’m thinking about going the route that Dumbledore and Doge were planning to go.”

“What’s that?” asked Dean.

“Travel the world,” said Harry. “Neville said he’s planning on hitting every continent, studying up on some foreign flora. He invited me to tag along, and I think I might take him up on it.”

“Not… not forever, though, right?” said Hermione. “I mean, this isn’t a career choice…”

“Of course not,” said Harry. “Just a for a few months, in both the Wizard and Muggle worlds. Get my head on straight, decide what I want to do with the rest of my life. If nothing else, it’ll be nice to be able to walk around without Polyjuice or the Invisibility Cloak.”

“Won’t that be expensive, though?” Hermione continued.

“The Marauders did it after they finished school,” explained Harry. “Sirius and Lupin told me about it. I’m sure my dad wouldn’t mind part of my inheritance going towards it, especially if it helps me later in life.”

“Wow,” said Ron. “That… that sounds like a blast.”

“It does,” said Ginny sadly, her fingers walking up and down the arm Harry had draped across her chest. “You promise you’ll write me this time, right? I don’t want you disappearing on me again.”

Harry looked down blankly at her face for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what she had said, before looking around the cabin. “Well… ummm… you’re all invited, of course. I mean, I didn’t mean it to sound like I wanted to go _alone_.”

“Really?” Ginny said, sitting up.

“Of course!” said Harry. “I’m already going with Neville, right? He said anyone who wants to come could come. The more the merrier. Seamus, too, Dean, if you want to let him know.”

“I’m in,” Dean shrugged. “And I’m sure Finnigan would love any excuse to get away from home for a while.”

“I would love to go,” said Luna. “I miss Neville.”

“I don’t know, Harry,” said Hermione. “I spent all of my savings last year when we were hunting Horcruxes. I don’t know if I could afford it. And there’s Caroline…”

“Money’s not an object,” argued Harry. “You blew your life savings for me last year. The least I can do is pay your way. Both of you,” he added, looking at Ron. “Besides, Neville wants to study plants, so we’re not planning on staying in luxury hotels, or anything. I’ll buy us a couple of tents. Big, new ones that don’t smell like locker rooms or cats.”

“I promised George I’d help out at the shop for a while,” said Ron. “The Weasley name’s bigger than ever, and he’s holding up under the crush as well as he can with just Lee and Verity. But, with Fred gone…”

“I understand,” said Harry. “Believe me, I do. But I want you two with me, even if you’re not with us for the whole trip. It won’t be the same without having you around.”

Ron sighed, and exchanged a look with Hermione.

“You’re not planning on leaving tomorrow, are you?” she asked.

“We’re thinking sometime near the end of August.”

“I might be able to swing some time,” Ron told Hermione. “Between the back-to-school and holiday shopping booms. George is hoping to have hired some extra help by then.”

“We’ll be back by Christmas,” said Harry hopefully.

Hermione cracked a small smile. “I’ll talk to my parents,” she said. “We’ll figure something out.”

A wide grin brushed across Harry’s face. He looked down at Ginny. “How about…”

Before he could finish his sentence, Ginny grabbed him behind the neck and pulled him down into a passionate kiss. Ron and Dean both pointedly looked at the ceiling, and Hermione looked down at Luna with a grin, only to see that she had gone back to her crossword.

“You told me you’re never leaving me again,” Ginny said after their kiss broke. “Did you honestly think I’d let you go without me?”

“So… just so we’re clear on everything,” said Dean, finding himself unable to look away from the ice flame as Harry and Ginny smiled at each other, “ _Two_ tents, right? So I, you know, won’t have to walk in on that? Ever?”

“I’m willing to pitch in for a third,” said Ron. “Just to be extra safe.”


	5. Sixteen Months Later: Titan Arum

Sixteen Months LaterTitan Arum   The book _Magical Herbs of the South Pacific_ by Vanuatu Vila describes the Gunung Leuser National Park as a Muggle-created nature preserve that houses hundreds upon hundreds of unique plants and herbs, many of which carry incredible potential in both potion making and Herbology, provided you’re crazy enough to go find them.  
  
 On the island of Sumatra, housed within the fourth-largest rainforest in the world, the GLNP is also the home of Bukit Lawang, a refuge/rehabilitation center for Sumatran Orangutans. Vila recommends (and his suggestion is confirmed by Newt Scamander himself in _Primal Primates and their Pelts_ ) that you do not attempt to steal any of the hair from the backs of these creatures. Despite their numerous uses in the areas of dexterity enhancement and creation of full red beards, Muggles really don’t like anyone touching their monkeys.  
  
 There are a few roads in and out of the National Park, with buses that will transfer you from the towns of Medan, Kutacane, and Ketambe into the area. Campsites are relatively plentiful, although it is suggested, as in most Muggle-inhabited areas, to keep a relatively low magical profile. Tour guides are also available if you wish to trek into the rainforest itself for a one- or two-day adventure. However, due to the relative lack of magical settlements in the area, most wizard tour guides will charge a hefty fee for their services. Muggle guides are more plentiful. However, they do have many disadvantages, primary among them being that whole “Performing Magic In Front Of A Muggle Can Get You In _Soooo_ Much Trouble” thing.  
  
 Also, the conversion rate between Galleons and the Indonesian Rupiah is just outlandish. Far too much for the average young witch or wizard to pay for even the most inexperienced guide.  
  
 No, if they wish to advance into the rainforests of Sumatra, the Isle of Gold (Gold Not Guaranteed), they’ll most likely have to slog it out on their own.  
  
 --------- "Stupid bugs," Seamus Finnigan muttered as he swatted his arm. "Stupid bugs, stupid weeds, stupid humidity."  
  
 "Keep it down, would you, Seamus?" Hermione Granger asked from in front of him, adjusting the pack on her shoulder. "I'm trying to take notes, and you keep scaring all my subjects away."  
  
 "Subjects like big scary animals?" asked Seamus, clenching his wand defensively. "Notice my lack of tears. One less alligator to chew my leg off."  
  
 "Nothing's going to hurt you," Neville Longbottom called from the front of the line. "Besides, there aren't any alligators in here. Just crocodiles."  
  
 "Comforting thought," said Ginny Weasley, and took Harry Potter's offered hand as he reached back to her, squeezing it gently.  
  
 "I didn't sign up for this," Seamus grumbled.  
  
 "You signed up for a trip where we're going around the world looking for plants," said Hermione. "That's what this is, isn't it?"  
  
 "Hey, don't get me wrong," Seamus said, throwing up his hands and barely avoiding smacking Hermione's textbook-thick journal, which floated between the two of them, Quick-Quotes Quill scribbling away faster than she could write by hand. "Up to this point, it's been a blast. Europe, great. Egypt, smashing. Russia, China, bloody brilliant. But I wasn't expecting to play Steve Irwin."  
  
 "Who?" Luna Lovegood asked from the back of the line.  
  
 "Muggle," said Harry.  
  
 "Ah..."  
  
 "I guess I was expecting a little more civilization, is all," said Seamus. "Either way, remind me to kick some skinny, black arse when I get back to camp."  
  
 "You can always go back with Dean and Ron," said Ginny. "No one's stopping you from Apparating back to camp."  
  
 Seamus hesitated. "Nah," he said, looking back at Luna with a small smile. "Protection's probably a good thing if one of those crocodiles attack. Don't want any of the ladies to get hurt."  
  
 Ginny snorted, whether in laughter or irritation Harry couldn't tell, and Hermione decided to take a sudden interest in the tree closest to her. Harry shook his head. From the start of the trip back in August, Luna Lovegood, as the only unattached female in the group of eight former students, had become the subject of frequent flirtations, chauvinisms, and overall shows of manliness by the three single men accompanying her. Watching it all from a distance, Harry couldn't help but wonder if he had ever acted this way when he had been trying to get the attention of Cho and Ginny.  
  
 "God, I hope not," he had said to Ron one night after most of their friends had gone to bed.  
  
 Ron, whose relationship history involved an awkwardly loud date proposal to the woman who was now his sister-in-law and multiple vengeful snog sessions in front of his current girlfriend, kept silent on the matter of how stupid men can act around women, and instead, decided to poke around the dwindling campfire with a stick.  
  
 Dean Thomas, who had spent three or four months living with Luna at the Weasleys' cottage last year, was proving that he had learned nothing from the mistakes made in his previous relationship with Ginny. He was going out of his way to be a perfect gentleman around Luna. Always offering her a plate at dinner before him. Always offering her the last piece of pie or roast or whatever, regardless of who else wanted to take a crack at it. Always holding the tent flap open. Always offering her his seat by the fire. Always offering to take her position guarding the campsite in case she'd rather go out and sightsee. Always offering her his lookout position in case she'd rather stay back and rest.  
  
 Seamus Finnegan, on the other hand, was taking a completely opposite tact, one that Harry referred to as "The Dudley Route."  
  
 Before he had received his invitation to Hogwarts, and during every summer vacation since then, his cousin would take every opportunity to show his machismo. With Dudley, it was beating up small children. Thankfully, Seamus didn't go in quite that direction. Instead, he would do anything in his power to show off whenever Luna happened to be around. When they chopped firewood, he would put down his wand and use an axe if she was within sight, grunting dramatically with each swing. When they were setting up the tents, he would volunteer to do one by himself, by hand, usually struggling for ten or fifteen minutes before Hermione would sigh in frustration and cast an _Erecto_ spell to save him from total embarrassment or dismemberment.  
  
 Plus, he always seemed to find an opportunity to take his shirt off when Luna showed up. Harry figured the scars on his back from his time with the Carrows might be used to his advantage. Beyond that, though, Seamus was far from an Adonis, and Harry, Ron, and Ginny always shared a laugh when Seamus attempted to flex his hairy biceps, slightly flabby from years of heavy meals at home in Ireland and from Hogwarts feasts, where Seamus never turned down seconds on the treacle tart.  
  
 To her credit, Luna seemed to be taking it all very well. _Of course, this is Luna we’re talking about,_ Harry thought as he worked his way through the scrub. She could be enjoying the new attention being lavished on her by the men. She could be irritated. She might not even notice it’s happening. She treated both Dean and Seamus with the same respect and affection that she gave to Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys.  
  
 “That’s Luna,” Ginny had said to him one night while the group was camping in Italy. “An open book that no one can read.”  
  
 “Luna!” Harry heard Seamus call, and turned around to see that Luna had, in fact, stopped about ten or twenty feet behind the group, as she had been prone to do on all of their expeditions. If she saw something interesting, it drew her full attention. At this moment, she was busy staring up into the treetops as Seamus walked back to her, hacking through the shrubs with his wand.  
  
 “What do you see?” Seamus asked as the rest of the group stopped.  
  
 “I saw a flying snake,” said Luna. “It was pretty.”  
  
 “A flying snake?”  
  
 Luna nodded serenely. “It flew from tree to tree.”  
  
 “There’s no such thing as flying snakes, Luna,” Seamus said patiently.  
  
 “Actually, there are,” Neville said from the front. “They’re fairly common in this area.”  
  
 Seamus stopped dead. “There are?”  
  
 “ _Chrysopelea ornata_ ,” Hermione interjected. “They don’t fly, though. They glide, like flying squirrels.”  
  
 Seamus’ jaw dropped.  
  
 “They won’t hurt you,” said Neville. “Their venom’s not deadly to humans.”  
  
 “God, I hate this place,” Seamus grumbled, tossing a _Diffindo_ at the nearest fern before taking Luna’s arm and ushering her back to the group.  
  
 “Thank you, Seamus,” Luna said, and Harry couldn’t help but see a blush come across Finnigan’s face through the sweat and dirt.  
  
 “Keep the hacking to a minimum, would you, Seamus?” Neville said. “There’s a lot of plants around this area that are very rare and important. Don’t hurt anything you don’t have to.”  
  
 “So, let me get this straight,” Seamus said. “We’re not supposed to hurt the weeds…”  
  
 “Not if you can help it,” said Neville.  
  
 “And we’re not in danger from any animals…”  
  
 “Not if we don’t poke them, no.”  
  
 “Then why are you carrying the big fucking sword?”  
  
 Neville turned away and started continuing down the path. “Because I can,” he said with a small smile, his hand resting on the Sword of Gryffindor that hung by his side. “Come on, we’re almost there.”  
  
 If there was anyone that seemed to be cracking through to Luna’s affections, it was good old Neville Longbottom. And he was doing it the best way he knew how: Neville was simply being Neville.  
  
 “It amazes me sometimes how those two never got together,” Ginny hadwhispered a few nights ago as she and Harry lay next to each other in bed. While the boys were fairly uncomfortable having the women sleep in their tent, Hermione and Luna didn’t have much problem if Harry slept in Ginny’s bed occasionally, and Ginny, having had to live with Ron for almost two decades, was fine with him crashing with Hermione every now and then. Just so long as things stayed on a purely PG basis while there were others in listening range, of course.  
  
 “Well, it’s difficult enough dating between Houses,” Harry had said. “Remember Percy and Penelope? It has to be even harder dating between Houses _and_ Years. They didn’t even share any classes together.” He deftly avoided bringing up his attempted relationship with Cho Chang, which at the time was between a Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, a fifth year and sixth year. If Ginny was thinking along the same lines (after her failed fling with Michael Corner) she didn’t say anything.  
  
 From what he had gathered, the two had been able to see even less of each other the year that Snape was in charge of Hogwarts. They performed their DA functions, but Ginny or Ernie or who knows who else was always there to keep them from being alone. When the two had seen each other at the Burrow as the group was preparing to leave, it had been the first time they had set eyes on each other since the Battle of Hogwarts over a year previous.  
  
 That moment as much as any made Harry and the others realize that Neville had the upper hand, and would have it no matter how hard Dean and Seamus tried. When she saw Neville, Luna hugged him. Considering this wasn’t the touchiest woman in the world, it was a big sign. And, judging from the red radiating off Neville’s face as she let go of him, Harry thought he recognized it, too.  
  
 Plus the birthday present she had given him didn’t hurt. Dumbledore had willed the Sword of Gryffindor to Harry. But, after Ron pulled it from the lake and Neville used it to kill Nagini, Harry decided that maybe it didn’t belong to him after all. Neville was holding it at the victory celebration, and Harry told him that he could keep it, making him promise not to cut himself or anyone else with the Basilisk-imbued blade.  
  
 Luna took it one step further. During the school year, she had made Neville a leather scabbard to hold and protect the sword. Decorated with dark rubies (real or fake, Harry couldn’t tell) and gold trim, it was fortified with enough enchantments where it the sword could never be drawn by anyone but the owner or, if there was danger, someone who the owner trusted with their life.  
  
 Needless to say, Neville thought it was a fantastic gift. He kept the sword at his side at all times, and drew it nightly before going to bed, just to stare at it. Harry thought that it was to remind him of what he had accomplished. But considering Neville spent more time looking at the scabbard than the sword lately, similar to the lingering looks that Neville gave Luna (probably similar to the ones he, Harry, had given Ginny at one point), Harry figured there might be other reasons for this evening ritual.  
  
 So lost in thought was Harry, that he almost ran into Neville, who had stopped dead in his tracks in front of him.  
  
 "There it is," Neville gasped, jogging forward, nimbly leaping over a fallen tree trunk.  
  
 "There is what?" asked Ginny as the rest struggled to keep up.  
  
 It didn't take Harry or any of the others to figure out what _it_ Neville was specifically referring to. A gigantic plant, which Neville was now circling on his hands and knees, stood five feet away from them. Looking like a cross between a corncob and a loaf of French bread, the towering green structure stood well over Harry's head.  
  
 "What is it?"  
  
 " _Amorphophallus titanum_ ," said Neville, with a grin on his face that Harry had rarely seen before. "Titan Arum. The largest unbranched inflorescence in the world."  
  
 Seamus whistled. " _Phallus_ is right," he chuckled. "Ever take Grawp's pants off, that's what--"  
  
 "I thought we already saw the largest in-flour-whatsis already," Ginny quickly interrupted. Harry, who had his turn in camp with Seamus that day, had only heard them talk about a huge red flower that the group had discovered on their journey.  
  
 "That was _Rafflesia arnoldii_ ," said Hermione, who had always been able to find someone to take her turn, allowing her to go out more often than even Neville. "The largest flower that grows off of another plant, like a tree or a vine. This is the largest independent flower in the world."  
  
 "You promise this one's not going to smell as bad as that one, right?" asked Ginny, but Neville just smiled and said, "I make no promises," as he took one more lap around the gigantic structure, this time waving his wand and chanting incantations under his breath. Harry felt a wave of energy pass around him, like a static charge.  
  
 “What was that that you just did?” he asked.  
  
 “This plant rarely flowers,” explained Neville. “When it does, it obviously happens when it’s the right time to pollinate. I don’t want to disrupt the ecosystem, so I cast a spell that keeps the pollen in and the bugs out.”  
  
 “Smart idea,” said Hermione, pulling her journal and quill from the air. Apparently, she decided that whatever happened next was too interesting or important to leave the notes to mere magic.  
  
 “Oh, and I probably should have warned you earlier,” said Neville. “Now that you’re all inside my circle, you can’t leave until I break it.” He pulled out his wand.  
  
 “Wait, what?” Seamus said quickly. “That sounded a little too much like ‘ _Danger, Will Robinson!_ ’ than I’m comfortable with.”  
  
 Neville either didn’t hear him, or decided it wasn’t worth responding to. Harry, Ginny, and Seamus tensed up, preparing for an explosion as Neville tapped the tip of his wand to the flower. The green outside split open, spreading out and down from the increasingly pink and purple middle, until the Titan Arum looked like an enormous chalice, lined with red and purple.  
  
 “Amazing,” breathed Neville, stepping forward. “Take a look at that spadix. It’s perfect.”  
  
 “It is rather pretty,” said Luna, walking up to stand next to Neville.  
  
 “The spadix, that’s the thing in the middle, right?” Seamus said. Hermione stood next to him, furiously scribbling notes and attempting to make some semblance of a diagram in her journal. When Neville nodded, Seamus puffed up proudly. “See, I knew I wasn’t a complete waste in Herbology.”  
  
 “Luna’s right, though,” Ginny said, walking around the other side. Harry followed right beside her, their hands entwined. “It’s quite… Oh, _God_ …”  
  
 Harry quickly turned to Ginny to see what she was reacting to. She was still staring at the plant, but she was making a face that reminded him of Ron after he had made a particularly foul concoction in Potions.  
  
 And then it struck him, and he reeled backwards from the plant, his hand flying to his nose and mouth. An odor was emanating from the Titan Arum that reminded him of ground beef that had been sitting out of the icebox for too long, or of that blood-and-sweat smell that Fenrir Greyback had been infamous for.  
  
 “Good Lord, what is that?” he groaned, and saw from Seamus’s reaction that he had smelled it, as well. Only Hermione, who appeared too engrossed in her notes to notice anything else, and Luna, who continued to stare passively at the plant, seemed unaffected.  
  
 Neville’s mouth was open in a grin of awe, but his eyes were watering. Harry couldn’t tell if they were tears of joy or just the body’s reaction to standing so close to the source of the stench.  
  
 “Neville!” Harry yelled through his hand. “Hurry up, would you? Do what you have to do, then close the bastard.”  
  
 That seemed to shake Neville from his reverie. “Sorry about that,” he said, raising his wand. “It is a bit strong, isn’t it?”  
  
 “Strong?” said Ginny. “More like stomach churning.” She turned to Harry. “I’m regretting that second helping of bangers this morning.”  
  
 Harry nodded, but decided opening his mouth to respond was just inviting trouble. His own breakfast was rolling in his stomach, as well.  
  
 “Well, there’s a reason it’s called the Corpse Plant,” Neville said as he pulled a few small bottles from his robe.  
  
 “Charming,” said Seamus dryly. “Really charming name. It’s a wonder it’s not used in more wedding receptions.”  
  
 “It’s all for pollination,” Neville explained as he ran the tip of his wand along the spadix, collecting the dust into one of the beakers. “The smell attracts carrion-eating bugs and beetles. It’s quite fascinating, really, how much the plant is made to fool the bugs into thinking that it’s a dead animal.”  
  
 “Oh, yeah, I could barely tell the difference,” said Ginny, who had pulled the up the neck of her t-shirt to cover her nose and mouth. Harry saw a bit of pale, freckled skin showing around her belly, and felt a momentary twinge of arousal before his stomach decided that he was a little too nauseous to even consider doing anything about it.  
  
 “Well, bugs are stupid enough,” said Neville. “The smell makes it seem like it’s a dead animal. The inside of the spathe, the flower part, is colored to look like meat. Even the interior temperature is a little over 36 degrees Celsius, which is about average body temperature for a mammal.”  
  
 “Wow, that’s… That’s amazing, Neville,” said Harry, trying desperately hard to keep his spirits up and his oatmeal down.  
  
 “Isn’t it, though? _Diffindo_ ,” Neville said happily, taking off a small portion of the flower and putting it in another bottle. “It’s right useful, too. Mix some of the pollen with Bubotuber puss, and you have an antivenom that neutralizes any poison. And the leaf can heal any burn in five minutes if applied with the right charms. Hold these, would you Luna?” He handed the two bottles to Luna, preparing two more for more samples.  
  
  “Less talky, more slicey,” said Ginny, her voice muffled by her shirt. “It smells like week-old Snorkack.”  
  
 “Actually,” said Luna, continuing to examine the plant as if there was nothing wrong. “Dead Snorkack smells quite different than this. Sweeter, with a little more of that wet hair odor…”  
  
 Hermione looked up sharply from her notes. “I thought you’ve never seen a Snorkack.”  
  
 “Not a live one, no,” said Luna. “But father and I saw a dead one when we were in Africa. It was quite beaten up, and someone had already taken its horn, but we were sure that that was what it was.”  
  
 “There are no such things as Snorkack,” said Hermione. “I thought you would have figured that out by now.”  
  
 “Oh, no, it was a Snorkack,” Luna insisted.  
  
 “But you said Snorkacks lived in Sweden.”  
  
 “Well, we thought they did, as well,” said Luna. “But one of our readers said that there was quite a large amount of them in Africa. No, it was definitely a Snorkack. We could see where the horn was removed from its nose.”  
  
 “You probably just saw a dead Erumpent,” pressed Hermione. “They’re African.”  
  
 “No, it was gray, and had a thick hide and a long tail, just like the Snorkack.”  
  
 “So do Erumpents…”  
  
 “Erumpents and Snorkacks share many similar features,” said Luna.  
  
 “Why do you continue to insist that they exist?” Hermione said, her temper rising.  
  
 “Why do you continue to insist that they don’t?” Luna replied.  
  
 “So what are you going to do with these samples, anyway, Neville?” Harry jumped in quickly, trying to avoid an argument that he could see Hermione was keen to continue.  
  
 “Grow my own,” said Neville. “It’ll take a lot of work to get one going, and their magical properties aren’t quite as potent when they’re domesticated. But it will be quite useful to have around either way.”  
  
 “Where are you going to grow it?” asked Ginny. “Your neighbors probably wouldn’t appreciate this thing in their back yard.”  
  
 “Yeah, I know,” said Neville, disappointment in his voice. “They just don’t understand it, is all. No, Pomona said that she would let me use one of the school greenhouses until I have enough money to build one of my own.”  
  
 “Pomona?” asked Seamus.  
  
 “Professor Sprout,” said Ginny.  
  
 “Wow,” said Seamus. “I didn’t know she had a first name.”  
  
 “Funny how that works, isn’t it?”  
  
 “That should do it,” Neville said, tapping his wand to the flower, which instantly closed back to its original state.  That accomplished, he waved his wand around in the air. “Scourgifying the area to make sure that all the inflorescence is pulled out of the air,” he explained to Harry. “Then I should be able to pull back the barrier.”  
  
 “Do we want to Apparate back to camp, or walk?” asked Ginny as Harry felt the barrier lift around them.  
  
 “Walking’s probably safer,” said Harry. “I’m only comfortable Apparating one or two people, three at most. We don’t want to Apparate into areas where Muggles can see us, and we can only fit a few people under the Cloak.”  
  
 Seamus opened his mouth, probably ready to volunteer to use the Cloak, but then he saw that Luna was following Neville and the others back up the trail, and quickly decided that he didn’t want to look like the wimp of the group.  
  
 The minutes passed in silence as the six students walked down the path. Neville walked in front, chuckling happily as he looked into his vials, newly filled with the pollen and petals of the Titan Arum. Harry and Ginny walked side-by-side behind him, hands comfortably nestled inside one another. Hermione’s journal floated behind them, Quick-Quotes Quill scratching away as Hermione took in as many sights as she could, knowing that the group would be leaving tomorrow morning for New Zealand. Luna behind her, studying the back of Hermione’s hair as if it were some interesting new specimen; and Seamus taking up the rear, slapping at bugs, but keeping the grumbling to a minimum. Luna was right in front of him now; he didn’t want to put up a bad showing.  
  
 “Do you believe I’m unintelligent?” Luna asked suddenly, and Hermione took a few moments to realize that she was being spoken to.  
  
 “What?” she asked, and Harry tried desperately hard not to turn around and watch the proceedings. From the tightening of Ginny’s hand, he knew that she was trying to do the same thing.  
  
 “Do you believe I’m unintelligent?” Luna repeated.  
  
 “Of course I don’t,” said Hermione. “There’s a reason you were put into Ravenclaw, wasn’t there?”  
  
 “I know that you’re lying to make me feel better,” said Luna, her eyes never leaving the back of Hermione’s head. “You don’t believe that House placement has much value, or else you would have been in Ravenclaw, Professor Snape would have been in Gryffindor, and Mr. Pettigrew would have been in Slytherin. But it’s all right. People lie around me frequently, because they don’t want me to feel bad.”  
  
 “I… it’s not that,” Hermione stammered, and slowed down enough to be able to walk next to Luna. “It’s just that some of your theories don’t have much merit, do they?”  
  
 “You’re speaking of the Snorkack, am I correct?” asked Luna. “Why do you think that they don’t exist?”  
  
 “Well, no one’s ever seen one,” said Hermione, as though stating the obvious. “There aren’t any pictures, nothing in any books about them. There’s no proof.”  
  
 “Just because there are no pictures does not mean that they haven’t been seen,” said Luna. “And maybe the authors of the books haven’t seen them, either. There _are_ books that discuss them.”  
  
 “Yes, but those are written by…” Hermione cut herself off.  
  
 “By crackpots?” finished Luna. “Like my father?”  
  
 “I wasn’t going to say that.”  
  
 “It’s alright,” Luna said, apparently not insulted ( _but with Luna you can never tell_ , Harry thought). “We do get the occasional piece of hate mail, and that’s not the strongest word people have used about our beliefs.  
  
 “Do you have any proof that they do _not_ exist, Hermione Granger?”  
  
 “Well, I’ve already given it, haven’t I?” said Hermione. “No pictures, no scientific evidence…”  
  
 “No, that is only the lack of proof of the Snorkack’s existence,” countered Luna. “Do you have any tangible evidence of its _non_ -existence?”  
  
 Hermione’s mouth opened, and then she stopped to think. “No, I don’t,” she conceded.  
  
 Luna reached around behind her and pulled her daypack around. Unzipping it, she pulled out the remnants of her lunch, and then removed one single item from the paper bag.  
  
 “What is this?” she asked Hermione, holding it up.  
  
 “It’s a peanut.”  
  
 “No, it’s a peanut shell,” said Luna. “Now, what is inside of the peanut shell?”  
  
 “The peanut?” Hermione said.  
  
 “How do you know?”  
  
 “Well, it’s because it’s a peanut, isn’t it?”  
  
 “But how do you know?” Luna repeated. “All you see is the peanut shell. No one has ever opened this particular peanut shell before. Can you prove to me that the peanut inside exists?”  
  
 “Well, yes, I can,” said Hermione patronizingly. “It’s a peanut shell. Peanuts grow inside peanut shells.”  
  
 “How do you know that it’s not an almond?” said Luna. “Or a bogey-flavored Bertie Bott’s Bean? Or a Crumple-Horned Snorkack?”  
  
 “But it’s not,” Hermione insisted. “Luna, it’s a _peanut_. It hasn’t been opened, it hasn’t grown to an enormous size, it’s a bloody peanut!”  
  
 “Taking an awful lot on faith, aren’t you, Hermione?” said Seamus from the back.  
  
 “Finnigan, don’t you start,” Hermione snapped. “It can’t be anything but…”  
  
 “Most people would say that that purse you have isn’t anything but a purse,” said Seamus. “There’s no way that anyone could fit a library of books in that little thing.”  
  
 “But this is _different_ , it’s…”  
  
 Luna squeezed the shell in her fingers, cracking it open. She poured the contents onto the palm of her hand. Two peanuts.  
  
 “Well,” she said, putting one into her mouth. “Now we have proof that they exist. Want one?”  
  
 Hermione took the remaining peanut from Luna’s hand and swallowed it.  
  
 “Up until the point that I opened it,” said Luna. “You could not prove to me that the peanut existed, no more than I could prove that it didn't. We were both equal in our beliefs. It is much easier to prove that something exists than to prove that it does not. To prove that this peanut shell contained a peanut, we simply had to crack it open and look inside.”  
  
 “Easy enough,” said Hermione.  
  
 “But now that evidence is gone,” said Luna. “Unless someone cuts us open, or at least until we have a bowel movement later.”  
  
  _Blunt honesty,_ Harry thought, chuckling.  
  
 “But proof is fleeting,” Luna continued. “Proof is fragile. We only have our belief that this peanut shell once contained the peanut. We have no proof that it once existed, or that any peanut residue in our stool comes from this particular shell. We have just as little proof as that the next peanut might have a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. And as long as no one can prove to me that the next peanut in the bag has a peanut in it, I’ll continue to believe that it’s possible for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack to exist.”  
  
 “But…” Hermione stumbled. “But that’s _stupid_. That’s not the right way to go about things at all! Using that theory, that something might exist as long as we can’t prove that it doesn’t… I mean, you could use that same argument about extraterrestrials or the ancient Greek myths, or anything…”  
  
 “Now you’re catching on,” said Luna, as Hermione huffed, exasperated. “Before you learned you were a witch, before you came to Hogwarts, did you believe that unicorns existed? Or giants? Or ghosts? Or magic of any kind?”  
  
 “Well, I had an idea that magic existed, because I accidentally blew up the slow cooker when I was five. And when I was ten, I set the hamster on fire after my Mum bought me this really horrid dress…”  
  
 “But you couldn’t prove that magic existed until you received the letter,” said Luna. “The slow cooker could have blown up due to a mechanical failure. The hamster could have been too close to a heat source, or could have spontaneously combusted. Or you could have been telekinetic, pyrokinetic, something along those lines. And the others? Any proof of unicorns, or…?”  
  
 “No, I didn’t think they existed,” Hermione said.  
  
 “But they did,” said Luna. “Even if you didn’t have proof. “Do you believe in God?”  
  
 “Well…” Hermione stammered, being thrown by the turn. “That’s a difficult question… I mean, I believe in _a_ god, or goddess, or some kind of higher power, but I don’t think that that’s anything to discuss …”  
  
 “I understand,” said Luna. “I apologize for bringing it up. I know many people have difficulty speaking about whoever or whatever created us. But you believe in something, Hermione. Something without evidence. Which means there’s hope for you yet.”  
  
 Hermione stopped in her tracks, Seamus barely avoiding her as he walked past.  
  
 “You’re a strange one, you know that, Luna?” Hermione said, hurrying to catch up.  
  
 Luna just smiled her smile. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” she said, continuing her serene walk through the Sumatran rainforest. “But it can be difficult to believe.”


	6. Seventeen Months Later-The Last Straw

Seventeen Months Later

 The Last Straw

 

 

From Hermione Granger’s copy of _Magical History of Pre-Columbian America_ , by Bathilda Bagshot (pre-snaked edition): 

 

_Very little is known about the early history of the magical settlement in Sacsayhuaman, just outside of Cusco, Peru. Many scholars believe that, like many other Muggle-borns in other parts of the world, that these wizards and witches were born naturally into the community and were raised as a part of Muggle society. In a world that existed before the International Confederation of Wizards, it is difficult to dispel this common-sense viewpoint._

 

_Others, such as the esteemed historian Pachacuti Sapa, argue that this commune had already been in the area and established well before the Incans took power. His theories state that the Incan Wizards were once a part of the Mesoamerican population that spawned such empires as the Aztecs and Olmecs around 1200 BC. He believes that this group of wizards fled south from what is now known as the North American country of Mexico to the eventual site of Sacsayhuaman after the Aztec mystics began to embrace the Dark Arts, which eventually lead to ritual human sacrifice. The eventual Incan peoples discovered this small settlement, and were so impressed by the skills and powers of the wizards that they settled nearby, calling Qusqu home and creating the empire that we study today._

 

_Despite the debate surrounding their origins, scholars can agree on many other areas of their history. When compared to many other regions of the world during the time of the Incan Empire, it could be argued that wizards and Muggles lived together in  harmony completely foreign to wizards dealing with such irritants as the Spanish Inquisition, the Crusades, and the Mongol invasions. Your average Incan believed that these magical beings held some sort of connection to their deities. But, with the exception of being the source of occasional (and incorrect) Oracle-like advice, they were treated just as well or just as badly as any non-magical human. Many wizards and witches rose to priesthood or governorship during this period, but always did so standing side-by-side with their Muggle neighbors, and rarely used their powers for personal gain._

 

_This peace, unfortunately, changed drastically during the invasion of Francisco Pizarro in the early 16th century. Faced with the possibility of extinction from a combination of warfare and smallpox, the magical population of Sacsayhuaman met and debated their fate. On one hand, they could protect their Muggle countrymen as well as they could, knowing that the overwhelming disease, combined with the thousands of non-Incan natives that the Spaniards had amassed as warriors, would overtake them eventually._

 

_The only other option, which they reluctantly chose in the end, was isolation over extinction. Within hours, the wizards and witches of Cusco faded into the brickwork of the walled stronghold, using a series of Muggle repelling hexes and Memory Charms to make the conquistadors unaware of their presence._

 

_Much like the Egyptian settlements of the Necropolis, Incan witches and wizards live still today unnoticed amongst the Muggle tourists that flock to the fortifications every day, primarily during the New Years' celebration of Inti Raymi. With the exception of a few Muggle-born Spanish wizards who discovered and immigrated to the settlement to avoid harsh reactions by their orthodox culture, Cuscan purebloods still run along a primarily Quechua (native South American) bloodline. As with most other wizarding cultures, half-bloods and Muggle-borns are prevalent, but not looked upon quite as badly as they are in other parts of the world._

 

\---------

 

“That was amazing!” 

 

Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom looked up from their game of Gobstones as Hermione Granger entered the camp, squealing in a very un-Hermione-ish way. She was flipping madly through her journal (the third that she had filled since the group left from Europe four months ago), reading and re-reading her notes from the day’s travels. Ron Weasley walked beside her, an embarrassed smile on his face. 

 

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” said Seamus Finnigan to Dean Thomas as they came in behind the couple. “No jungle, no giant Corpse Plants, no lizards with big teeth that want to eat me. Just rocks and tourists and bloody brilliant.” 

 

“I think Colin would be proud of all the pictures that I took,” said Dean, holding up his camera. “You’re going to show me how to develop these to make them move, right?” 

 

“I take it you had a good time then?” Neville asked. 

 

“It was _fantastic_!” Hermione yelled. “The history, the ruins, the culture, the… the… oh, _I loved it_! I could have stayed all night. I didn’t take nearly as many notes as I wanted. Can we go back again tomorrow?” 

 

“Hermione’s a little over-stimulated,” Ron explained to Neville and Luna, who just nodded in amusement. 

 

“We can go back again tomorrow, right?” Hermione repeated in a perky way that no one in the listening area was used to. 

 

“Ummm… maybe for a little bit?” said Ron, sitting down next to Luna as she flicked a gobstone at Neville’s side, missing narrowly. “But we’re Apparating to, um, Arubabamabamba Valley tomorrow afternoon.” 

 

“Urubamba Valley,” corrected Neville, pulling a map from the backpack that lay on the ground beside him. “About seventy kilometers from here. Harry says we don’t have to set camp until tomorrow night, so everyone can see Machu Pichu without having to set a guard.” 

 

“Ooooh, Machu Pichu!” Hermione said, now practically bouncing off the ground on the balls of her feet. “I’m going to need to bring a new notebook…” 

 

“So how were things when we were gone?” Seamus asked as Dean, who sat down on Luna’s other side, whispered instructions in her ear, pointing to a particular gobstone on the ground. Luna’s usually protuberant eyes squinted slightly in concentration, and she nodded. 

 

“Thank you, Dean,” she said, aiming her shot. “Everything was just fine here when you were gone. Neville and I played many rounds. We’re quite evenly matched.” 

 

She flicked her stone across the dirt. It connected with one of Neville’s large stones, which proceeded to shoot green liquid into his face. 

 

“Point,” she said, making a slash mark in the dirt as Neville grumbled, wiping the foul mess from his face. 

 

“Where are the two lovebirds?” asked Seamus, looking around the site. “Abandon their post for a little snog?” 

 

“Harry and Ginny sat with us for a little while,” said Luna. “They’re in the boys’ tent.” 

 

Ron’s head snapped to attention. “How long have they been in there?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the larger of the two structures. 

 

“Maybe about a half hour,” shrugged Neville. “An hour, tops.” 

 

“Right,” said Ron, and Neville could see that Hermione’s earlier excitement had cooled quickly as she gave Ron a foreboding look. 

 

“It’s not a big deal, though, seriously,” Neville reassured, seeing Ron’s reaction. “They’re not abandoning their post. They asked our permission before they went in, and we said we’d be fine with just the two of us. I mean, most of the time it’s only been just two of us on guard, right?” 

 

“They deserve some alone time,” said Luna. 

 

Ron didn’t seem to hear either of them. Mumbling something about “getting a book,” he stood up and stomped toward the tent. 

 

“Ron, don’t be mad!” Neville yelled behind him. “They weren’t really abandoning us! If there was trouble we were going to call for them! Ron!” 

 

“Ron!” Hermione yelled, stepping quickly after him as he tore the tent flap open and walked inside. 

 

“Oi!” Hermione heard as she walked in behind him. “Break it up! Big brother coming through!” 

 

“What the hell are you doing?” she heard Ginny scream as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting inside the magically-enlarged tent. “Don’t you knock?” 

 

“Tough to knock on a tent flap,” said Ron. “I was just coming in to get a book, but I’m glad that I did. Making sure you two keep your trousers on…” 

 

As the picture formed around her, Hermione saw Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley sitting bolt upright in Harry’s bed. Harry was fumbling for his glasses on the nightstand, and Ginny had the sheet pulled up over her chest. From the looks of their arms, Hermione could see that the couple was at least topless, if not completely naked. 

 

“Yeah, right, good excuse,” Ginny snorted. “You. Looking for a _book_. You _knew_ we were in here, you prat! I heard you talking outside…” 

 

“Of course you did,” snapped Ron. “Amazed you could hear anything through all the moaning…” 

 

“Ron… mate…” Harry said, stumbling out of bed, barely able to stand as he attempted to pull his jeans up over his boxers. “Sorry I didn’t… but… I mean…” 

 

“Ron, what is your fucking problem?” Ginny screamed, and Hermione was amazed at the self-restraint of the four others outside, as she was still the only one standing at the mouth of the tent even though she knew perfectly well that they could hear every word. 

 

“My _fucking_ _problem_ is that I can’t leave you two alone for five minutes without the birth control spells coming out!” 

 

“You _asshole_!” Ginny howled, and the sight of her grabbing her wand from the nightstand and pointing it at Ron broke Hermione’s paralysis. 

 

“Ginny, don’t!” Hermione screamed, running in between the two of them. 

 

“Oh, please, Hermione, get out of the way,” Ginny said, laughing madly, her other hand still clutching the sheet over her bare chest. “I’ve been wanting to hex this bastard ever since he broke up my birthday present for Harry two years ago, just give me a chance…” 

 

“No…” 

 

“…one little _Avis Oppugno_ , just like you used, I promise I’ll leave him in mostly one piece for you…” 

 

“No!” Hermione repeated. “Ginny, put the wand down! Please!” 

 

Ginny’s eyes narrowed, and Hermione knew that she was going to take a Stunning Spell of her own before her boyfriend got the brunt of his sister’s attack. Then, with a snort of frustration, Ginny lowered her wand and set it on the bed, well within reach if she changed her mind. 

 

“Now get out,” she growled. 

 

“Right. Of course,” Hermione said, her heart rate returning to normal. “Sorry to interrupt.” She turned to Ron. “Come with me.” 

 

“Not until those two are dressed and back outside,” Ron said, crossing his arms defiantly. Hermione could feel her blood boiling at the statement. 

 

“Ron,” she said through clenched teeth. “You. Are. Going. To. Come. With. Me. 

 

“ _Now_.” 

 

“Not until…” 

 

“ _Now_!” And with that, Hermione stormed out of the tent. 

 

“Right,” he said, and then turned back to Harry and Ginny. “I expect you both back outside in five minutes.” He turned on his heel and walked outside, barely noticing the Stunning Spell that hit the flap inches from his head. 

 

Ron squinted in the sunlight. He expected Luna, Neville, Dean, and Seamus to be staring at him, sure that they had heard every word. Instead, their attention was drawn to the girl’s tent, where, Ron saw with dread, Hermione was standing, tent flap open, staring at him. 

 

“Inside.” 

 

Ron recognized the look in Hermione’s eyes. It was a look he had grown to fear after eight years of sharing homework assignments with her, one she had given him in those times right before they stopped speaking to each other for months on end. 

 

Knowing that now was not the time to wilt under that gaze, that gaze that could melt a copper kettle, Ron resisted the urge to hang his head, and walked as steadily as he could past the four onlookers, past Hermione, and into her tent. 

 

“Sit,” she said as she followed him in, pointing sharply to her bed. Ron crossed the smaller and less smelly tent, as firmly and angrily as he could muster, sitting down on the bed and crossing his arms in what he genuinely hoped didn’t look like a pout. 

 

Hermione closed the tent flap and wheeled on him. For a second, it looked as though she was going to start screaming just like Ginny, but Ron watched her as she closed her eyes, attempting to regain her composure, before she asked, 

 

“What are you doing?” 

 

“Talking to you,” he said. 

 

“That’s not what I meant…” 

 

“Then you’re going to have to enlighten me,” said Ron. “Because right now, I don’t think I’m doing anything else but talking to you.” 

 

“Right…” Hermione said quietly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine. If that’s how you’re going to be, then so be it.” 

 

“What way am I being?” asked Ron, exasperated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

 

“Of course you don’t,” said Hermione, fingers still on her nose, her patience waning quickly. “I forgot you have the emotional capacity of a teaspoon.” 

 

Ron felt his face flush at the comment, but decided to let her continue. 

 

“Harry won’t talk to you,” she said, “because you’re his best friend, and he doesn’t want you to be angry with him. He’s _never_ wanted you to be angry with him. Ginny’s tried talking to you, but you won’t listen to her because, quite frankly, you’ve never listened to Ginny…” 

 

“Of course, I…” 

 

“So I guess it comes down to me,” Hermione sighed. “Because you love me and will listen to me and we’ve been angry enough with each other over the years that, hey, what’s one more time?” 

 

“Why would I be angry with you?” 

 

“You’re not the one who’s the angry one, believe me,” said Hermione. “Now shut up.” 

 

Ron was quickly realizing that he had never seen Hermione like this before. She paced back and forth, one hand still pinching her nose, the other one clenching and unclenching at her side. The argument they had in their third year after Ron thought Crookshanks had killed his rat was nothing compared to this. Their screaming match after the Yule Ball was a mere cinder compared to what he felt was coming. He could see that she was trying with all of her will to control herself. 

 

At last, she spoke. 

 

“Do you approve of Harry and Ginny?” 

 

“I… what?” He didn’t know what question to expect from her, but it wasn’t this. 

 

“Harry,” Hermione repeated. “And Ginny. Your best friend and your sister. Dating. Do you approve?” 

 

“I… umm…” 

 

“Because when she was dating Michael Corner, you seemed very disappointed that she didn’t fancy Harry anymore. Has your opinion changed, now that she _does_ fancy him?” 

 

“No!” said Ron. “I mean… it’s not like I actually expected it to _happen_ …” 

 

“So, what?” asked Hermione. “You don’t think they should be together?” 

 

“I didn’t say that…” 

 

“Do you or do you not think that they should be together?” 

 

“Yeah… Yeah, I guess…” 

 

“Then fucking _act like it_!” 

 

“I do act like it!” 

 

“No, Ron, you don’t,” said Hermione. “You give them the evil eye whenever they’re together. You don’t allow them to have any time alone without barging in. You were five seconds away from ratting them out to Filch the night that they snuck into the prefect's bathroom. You’re giving Harry a fucking complex because he’s afraid to lose you if you even see him holding his girlfriend’s hand. And don’t even get me started on how you’ve treated Ginny…” 

 

“She’s my little sister!” 

 

“She’s eighteen!” Hermione yelled. “As much as it might pain you to realize it, the little eleven-year-old who got dragged into the Chamber of Secrets is gone! Ginevra Weasley is a woman now. One hell of a woman, after everything she’s been through. She’s an adult in both the wizard world and the Muggle one, and she doesn’t need you to protect her!” 

 

“I promised my Mum I’d look after her,” said Ron. 

 

“And Molly loves Harry,” said Hermione. “Besides, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but even your mother displays more tact, more comfort, around those two than you do.” 

 

“Not so easy to say if Ginny comes home all knocked up…” 

 

Hermione stopped, and the look that she gave Ron would have made him flinch in fear if he wasn’t so busy being angry. 

 

“You don’t mean that,” she said slowly. 

 

“Why not?” 

 

“Because this is Harry and Ginny that we’re talking about,” she said. “You don’t think they’d be that irresponsible?” 

 

“I don’t know,” said Ron. “I don’t think she thinks particularly clearly around him. Harry’s always had this effect on women…” 

 

“What are you talking about?” 

 

“I mean, look at the first time that they kissed, how Harry made her…” 

 

“He’s the one who kissed her, like she’d been wanting him to for years.” 

 

“And in her bedroom, before we went hunting for Horcruxes, he couldn’t keep his hands off her, even after he broke up with her.” 

 

“She was the one who kissed him, Ron. She had been planning it for weeks, had asked me for advice every night up to his birthday.” 

 

“And what did you tell her?” 

 

“I told her it was a fantastic idea. And besides, you were the one that gave him that dating advice book for his birthday, weren’t you?” 

 

Ron stopped. “How’d you know about that?” 

 

“I packed your things, Ron. You both had a copy. No wonder Harry’s so screwed up, you keep giving him so many mixed signals.” 

 

“Okay, but Harry’s always had this thing,” Ron said, pressing on. “I mean, even when he and Ginny weren’t together, he always had women falling all over him, begging to do whatever he wanted. Cho, and Romilda, and Luna, and you, and the Patil twins…” 

 

“Me?” 

 

“And, God, you should have seen the way Lavender kept looking at him after we broke up, it was sickening.” 

 

“What do you mean, _me_?” 

 

Ron’s jaw hung open in mid-sentence. He could feel his mind clicking backwards, trying to remember what he had said. 

 

_Oh, shit._

 

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean that.” 

 

“Yes, you did,” said Hermione. “You think that there was something between me and Harry?” 

 

“No, I didn’t mean…” 

 

“That I was, what did you say? ‘Falling all over him, begging to do whatever he wanted’?” 

 

“The Horcrux had an effect on me, I guess…” 

 

“What do the Horcruxes have to do with any of this? What Horcrux?” 

 

“Oh, God, someone just cut my foot off and shove it in my mouth…” Ron said, his head falling into his hands. 

 

“What about the Horcruxes?” 

 

“It’s nothing,” Ron insisted. “Nothing happened, I swear.” 

 

“Ron, something happened that night that you destroyed the locket,” said Hermione. “I know it did. You and Harry both acted really strangely when you were telling me about it. Like you were leaving something out.” 

 

“It was nothing…”

 

“Ron,” Hermione said, more quietly this time, and Ron looked up to see that she had gone from raging fury to kneeling calmly in front of him. “Don’t hide anything from me. Please.” 

 

Ron looked into her eyes, could see that tears had begun to form around the corners, that she was almost pleading for the answer. 

 

_This is the important question,_ he thought for some reason. _We’re teetering, and she’s hinging everything on this answer._ _If I tell her what I saw, it will end us. I know it._

 

“The Horcrux…” Ron said, swallowing. “It… it told me not to destroy it. It showed me what would happen if it died. I saw you dead. And Harry. And Ginny. But I knew that it was lying. So I killed it.” 

 

Hermione looked into his eyes, and he tried his best to look back. 

 

_I can’t tell you the truth,_ he thought. 

 

She nodded. Sniffed. Wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. And stood up. 

 

And Ron knew that he had made the wrong choice. 

 

“I love you,” she said, not able to look at him. “I fell in love with you for being the man that you are. But I don’t know if that’s the man I can spend the rest of my life with.” 

 

“Hermione…” Ron said, standing up. 

 

“I love Harry,” she continued, taking a step away. “And I love Ginny. They are my two greatest friends, and I want to see them happy. I want to see them get married and have two point three bouncing babies with messy red hair and no scars on their foreheads. But they make your life miserable, and you make their life miserable. So you make me miserable. And I can’t have misery in my life, not after everything that’s happened, after everyone who’s died trying to make the world a better place. They deserve better. I deserve better. We _all_ deserve better.”

 

“Are you…?” Ron couldn’t go on. The words refused to come. 

 

“I don’t know,” said Hermione, her voice choking. “I think I am. I can’t believe that I am, but I am. We can’t do this, Ronald. I can’t be with you unless you decide to make some important choices. Until you decide you’re ready to start growing up.” 

 

“No,” Ron pleaded. “Hermione, please…” 

 

“Do what you need to do,” she said, her back to him, her hand on the tent door. “Talk to who you need to talk to. Have whatever epiphanies you need to have, mend whatever bridges you need to mend. And mean it. When you’re ready, then we’ll talk. But I don’t know how long I can wait.” 

 

“I’m ready now,” said Ron, hoping that he could say whatever needed to be said. 

 

Hermione Granger turned back to him. “See?” she said. “You’re still lying.” And she walked out of the tent, passing Harry and Ginny, passing Neville, and Luna, and Dean, and Seamus. She walked until she knew she was far enough away where they couldn’t hear her collapse to the forest floor, curling into herself as her stomach clenched. As she cried her heart out, wondering which choice was the wrong choice. Was it when she had dropped the basilisk fangs, kissing him in front of the Room of Requirement? Or was it when she had turned away from him, leaving him alone in the tent? 

 

And still Ron Weasley stood, tears rolling down his cheeks, wondering what would happen next.

 


	7. Eighteen Months Later: The Incident

Chapter Six  
Eighteen Months Later: The Incident

  
From Dean Thomas’s now-beaten-up copy of _Trodor’s Magical New York City, 1999 edition:_

_Much like the city itself, the magical communities of New York City are amongst the largest and most diverse in the world. Settlement and immigration patterns have practically mirrored those of their Muggle counterparts since the village of New Amsterdam was founded in 1624. Today, there are magical communities located in each of New York’s five boroughs, as well as ethnically dense populations in such neighborhoods as the Lower East Side, Borough Park, and Bedford-Stuyvesant._

_While New York City is a major global wizarding center, the fact remains that most touring wizards wish to see the Muggle sights just as much as the North American branch of the International Federation of Wizards (located across the street from the Muggle United Nations building) or the New York Galleon Exchange. The United States Department of Magical Administration recognizes and fully encourages this desire, but also wishes for witches and wizards alike to respect the laws and practices of the International Statute of Secrecy._

_As such, United States Aurors (or Men In Black, as they’re called in the states) are stationed at such New York Muggle institutions as Central Park, Times Square, and the Empire State Building. One of the largest Muggle structures in the world, the ESB must be seen to be believed. Built in 1931, it extends 102 stories above the ground, allowing a grand view of the entire landscape without the need of broomsticks or levitation spells._

_Due to the overwhelming population density of the city, the visiting wizard may find him or herself at a loss when comfortably traveling through the city. I would personally suggest trying the novelty of the Muggle underground transit system, or subway. There are also large numbers of taxi cabs above the ground, and the friendly, if not always English-speaking, drivers will whisk you off to your destination._

_Bear in mind that both the subway and taxi systems require Muggle American currency, which is different than the Muggle British Pound. The helpful staff at the New York branch of Gringotts in lower Manhattan will swiftly process any money you wish to exchange._

_If you do not wish to take advantage of the quaint, if not reliable, Muggle transportation, New York City is home to one of the most convenient and complex Floo Nets in the world. Over three dozen stations are located within the city limits, with twenty more spread throughout the suburban area._

_Wizard tourists should not worry about a lack of magical convenience while visiting New York, either. There are forty different hotels catering specifically to your magical needs. The Knight Bus service has been a New York mainstay since its expansion in the early 1700’s. And those wishing for a more scenic evening will be pleased to know that there are many USDMA-authorized cruise ships which circle New York’s islands daily, offering both day and evening tours._

\---------

To the average Muggle walking along the shore of Battery Park this brisk December evening, the ship looked like nothing special. Black paint smeared over pockets of rust, the schooner was notable only for the thought that “That fucker’s about five years away from having its charter pulled by the Port Authority. Tops,” before moving on to the more important business of the day. 

If the Muggle had been able to actually climb on board the vessel (which they wouldn’t; USDMA-authorized warding spells prohibited any Muggles from boarding without prior approval), they would be singing a different tune. The _USS Winterberg_ , named after the most famous Secretary of Magic to ever come from the tri-state area, was the largest, most popular, and one of the most luxurious magical tourist crafts on the Eastern Seaboard.

Enchanted with multiple enlargement spells, the interior of the 50-foot craft felt like a small ballroom, complete with chandeliers and a live swing band in the corner. Windows lined the walls, enchanted to allow an unimpeded view of the New York City skyline for those who wished to sightsee without going out onto the deck above. 

Of course, the open bar, with a legal wizard drinking age aligning with the seventeen-year-old age of adulthood, didn’t hurt its popularity, either. 

“Oh, God, I’m gonna feel this in the morning,” Seamus Finnigan burped as he set down his glass of Firewhisky. 

“Bout time to cut you off, I think,” Neville Longbottom said, reaching across the round table for the bottle, but Seamus pulled it away. 

“Nah, I’m not pissed,” he said. “Just a little… tipsy, is all.” 

“Your definition of ‘tipsy’ amuses me,” said Luna Lovegood from between the two boys. She took a dainty sip from her own glass, which she had been nursing for most of the night. “One usually doesn’t break into ‘Odo the Hero’ when they’re just tipsy.” 

“I’ll be fine, lass,” Seamus said, his Irish brogue coming through more and more as the evening progressed and the alcohol level shrank. “I’m just… it’s gonna be one _hell_ of a Portkey trip.” 

“Well, remind me to stand as far away from you as possible,” chuckled Neville. 

“Wha’ time do we take off again?” 

“Six a.m.,” Hermione Granger said quietly from his other side, her glass nestled in her hand on the table. “Stop off in Iceland, and we’ll be in London by tea.” 

Seamus sighed, stretching. “Back to reality, eh?” 

“Yeah,” said Hermione. “Back to reality.” 

_It will be good to get back to reality,_ Hermione thought as she looked around the ship. _Any kind of reality, with my parents and Caroline, will be better than this._

After the explosion that occurred in Peru, things obviously hadn’t been the same among the group of eight former Hogwarts students. The breakup of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley had torn through what had to that point been a mostly friendly, comfortable group. 

It began with their trip to Machu Pichu, and continued through their journey up the Gulf of Mexico and along the East Coast of the United States. Hermione and Ron barely spoke three words to each other since 'The Incident,' as she had begun to call it in her own mind. Ron felt just as self-conscious around Harry and Ginny, the former having difficulty looking him in the face, while the latter usually had her wand wrist twitching within thirty seconds of contact with her brother. 

Hermione herself was also having difficulty finding a place to fit in. Her time with Harry and Ginny was strained at best. She knew that they sympathized with her, but she also knew that they felt partially responsible for the breakup in the first place. When she was in their presence, the couple separated, released hands, stopped hugging and kissing at night before going to bed like they usually did before' The Incident.' In fact, Harry had spent every night since in the boy’s tent, not once sleeping in Ginny’s bed like he once did three or four nights a week at the beginning of the tour. 

Hermione felt some relief at their gesture, knowing now how Harry must have felt seeing Ron and herself sharing those brief moments before they had even begun dating. But this relief only increased her guilt, as she felt that her mere existence could cause some kind of rift between the last remaining couple on the trip. 

Things went from bad to worse two weeks ago, when the group was camping in the Florida Everglades. Hermione had finally been taking advantage of her guard duty, thankful for the excuse to get away from most of her friends, when Seamus decided to, for lack of a better term, “test her availability.” 

She understood, of course. She hadn’t made her intentions clear after the breakup. None of them knew if it was permanent or temporary. Hell, she didn’t know if it was permanent or temporary. Every night since she left Ron alone in the tent, she questioned whether she should have ended it in the first place or just given him some sort of ultimatum. Whether he would be able to do what needed to be done, or if he would continue to live his life… well, the way he was living it. 

All Seamus knew was that Hermione was a girl who he had been a friend with since they started school. He knew that she was single (since The Incident), that he was single. When he tried to kiss her that afternoon, there was a part of her mind that said “ _Why not_?” She even kissed him back for a moment or two before realizing what she was doing. She quickly pushed the thought aside, and pushed him aside, and nothing else was made of it when the rest of the group returned a few minutes later. 

Something had been made of it, somehow, later that night. She wasn’t sure of the specifics. All she knew, hearing from Neville, was that Seamus and Ron had had one hell of a row in the boys’ tent that night, and that Seamus had profusely apologized to her the next day. Since then, she and Seamus had remained cordial, not much different than they had been previously. 

After that night, things split even further. Ron spent almost all of his time with Dean and Seamus. Whether it was because they had come to some sort of friendly truce, or because Ron felt that his presence would keep Seamus from taking another chance, she didn’t know. For all she knew, Ron was merely with them because he knew that she would keep her distance as long as he was there. 

Faced with ending one relationship in Harry and Ginny, and giving the indication that she was starting another one with Seamus, Hermione had spent most of her time in America with Neville. As the two true scholars in the group, the two who had come on this trip for primarily educational purposes, it was definitely a comfortable fit. Even Luna, who was suddenly the only one with the enviable ability to float between the now three cliques, spent most of her time with the two of them as they toured the Aztec temples, the Louisiana Bayou, and the Appalachian Mountains. Whether this was because she enjoyed their presence, didn’t enjoy the others’, or just wanted to be around Neville more, Hermione never asked. She felt keeping Luna by their side was enough, no matter the reason. 

Even Neville, who remained the most gregarious and easy-going of the group, could recognize the growing tensions. In the end, it was he who suggested their departure from protocol for the last leg of their journey. 

“I think we _do_ need some civilization,” he had said one night in South Carolina as the eight sat around the campfire for another quiet dinner. 

He suggested, using the weather as an excuse, that the group chip in for a few nights in a hotel when they hit New York. 

“Rates are pretty reasonable in the Wizard neighborhoods,” Dean concurred. “Plus, it will give us a more central location to split out and see whatever.” 

In the end, they settled on three rooms in Manhattan: Hermione, Luna, and Ginny stayed in one room, Harry and Neville in another, Dean and Seamus in the third, with Ron switching between the two boys’ rooms depending on the their daily fluctuating mood. Rates, although still cheaper by Muggle standards, were above the means for most of them. But Harry, probably recognizing the social need as well as the practical, chipped in a small part of James and Lily’s inheritance to cover whatever was needed. 

So the past few days had been spent pretty much apart from each other. Neville, Hermione, and Luna spent most of their time visiting the botanical gardens, which were still lively even in the early stages of winter, and museums of New York while the other five, their ranks growing and shrinking on a whim, ran around some of the more touristy sections of the city. 

And still Ron hadn’t spoken to her. And still Hermione had no indication that he had tried to make amends with either Harry or Ginny. And as she looked around the ship, seeing Harry and Dean at a bar in the corner, with Ron nowhere in sight, she wondered what things would be like when they finally returned home. 

“So have you thought about what you’re doing when you get back?” Neville asked, as though reading her mind. 

“Hmm?” Hermione said, returning from space. 

“I mean jobs, living arrangements, that kind of thing?” 

“I don’t know,” Hermione shrugged. “Probably just hunt around for a job until something better comes along. Until, you know, I have enough experience to get somewhere important.” 

“You’re the smartest girl in our year, Hermione,” said Seamus. “Something’ll come along soon enough.” He patted her leg, probably not even realizing in his drunken haze that he was doing it. Nonetheless, Hermione pushed her chair another foot away from him. 

“Are you going to live at home?” Neville continued, trying to be oblivious to Seamus’s action. 

“For a little bit,” she said. “Ginny and I were talking about getting a place, but…” 

“Things are uncomfortable between you two now,” said Luna. “It’s sad.” 

“Yeah,” Hermione said quietly. “Yeah, it is…” 

“Well, if you need a place to stay, I’ll always have a spare bedroom,” said Neville, who had moved into a small two-bedroom flat outside Hogsmeade soon after he finished school last year. They don't graduate…they finish.

“And when I start to look, we can always live together,” said Luna. “If you can stand living with me, that is.” 

“That would be nice,” Hermione said, smiling sadly. “Thank you. Both of you. But, I don’t know… My mum and dad might want me around. And Hermione Caroline’s getting the hang of walking now, so they probably wouldn’t mind an extra pair of eyes…” 

“They probably wouldn’t,” said Luna. “But did you forget what we spoke about on the Hogwarts Express? You shouldn't feel obligated to put your life on hold for your sister.” 

“I’m not,” said Hermione. “It’s just…” she rested her forehead on her hands. “Things are so much more confusing now. I don’t know what else to do, and I feel safe there.” 

“Things don’t have to be confusing.” 

“They don’t have to be, but it doesn’t mean that they aren’t…” 

“You’re speaking of Ronald?” 

“Of course, I’m speaking of Ronald…” 

“Then that is difficult.” 

“Yes, I know, thank you…” 

“But he’s not the only difficulty,” Luna continued serenely. “Have you spoken to Ginny and Harry about your problems? About how you feel? About how they feel?” 

“No, I haven’t…” 

“Why haven’t you?” 

“Because they don’t want to hear it,” Hermione sighed. “They feel bad enough about 'The Incident' without me moaning on about it…” 

“Do you believe that they feel bad about the breakup? Or about how you feel around them?” 

“I… what?” 

“Maybe you should speak to them. Harry’s right over there, but I don't know where Ginny is.” Luna pointed back to the corner, where Harry and Dean continued an animated, yet friendly, silent discussion. 

Hermione looked at Luna, her head feeling fuzzy. “I… what am I supposed to talk to him about again?” 

“Whatever comes up,” Luna said, sipping her Firewhisky. 

“Go on,” said Neville. “Take a break from us sad, drunken sods.” 

Hermione looked around the table, then up to the corner. _I told Ron he should mend some bridges,_ Hermione said, flinching at the mixed metaphor. _But I guess I’ve burned a few myself in the process._

She stood up and made her way through the crowd over to the corner. Harry Potter and Dean Thomas stood leaning against the wall-attached bar, their drinks set on identical cardboard coasters. 

“Keyshawn was fantastic!” she heard Dean say as she approached. “I mean, I love the guy, but that fourth quarter was just…” 

“And he suddenly becomes a Jets fan,” snorted Harry. “What happened to West Ham?” 

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, our football’s the best,” said Dean, taking a sip. “Blows the pants off American football any day. But it’s still fun to dabble, you know?” 

Hermione suddenly wrapped her head around what was sounding to her like a foreign language. Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Ginny had hopped a bus this morning out to New Jersey to watch an American Football game. This was just a discussion of the results. 

“I will admit Miami had a chance there at the end,” said Harry. “Hell of a game. Still doesn’t hold a candle to Quidditch, though.” 

“See, I’ve never got Quidditch, myself,” said Dean. “It’s a sport, sure. But it’s not really, you know, athletic, is it?” 

“Oh, and what do you mean by that?” said Harry, quickly coming to the defense of his favorite sport. 

“Well, I mean, we fly around on brooms and throw a ball,” Dean shrugged. “There’s no running. No physical exertion. It’s just like, you know, NASCAR. Or polo.” 

“Polo?” Harry said, exasperated (but Hermione could still see the smile on his face, so she knew that he wasn’t really angry). “You’re comparing Quidditch to a bunch of guys running around on horseback with hammers?” 

“Horses, brooms, same difference,” shrugged Dean as Hermione set her drink behind Harry. “It’s still all letting others do the work for you. Hell, _badminton’s_ more of an athletic competition than Quidditch.” 

“Have you ever tried flying around on a broom?” 

“I was on your team, Harry.” 

“Yeah, I know,” smirked Harry. “I’ve seen you play, so I’ll repeat the question: Have you ever _tried_ flying around on a broom?” 

“You son of a bitch,” Dean said, aghast. “Oh, hey, Hermione.” 

Harry spun around, noticing for the first time that she was behind him. “Hi,” he said, the smile wiping from his face. 

“Hi,” Hermione replied, suddenly wishing that she hadn’t joined in. 

“Oi! Thomas!” Seamus yelled from across the room. “West Ham United sucks tit!” 

“Okay, and now that’s _definitely_ my cue to leave,” Dean said, grabbing his drink. “I’ll try to keep the hooliganism to a minimum, I promise.” 

“No bloodshed,” Harry said, but Dean only chuckled and patted Harry on the back as he went to join Seamus, Neville, and Luna at their table. 

Harry and Hermione stood in silence, staring out the enchanted window at the New York skyline. The minutes ticked by, and Hermione tried to force herself to say anything. But Harry spoke first. 

“Nice night, isn’t it?” 

“Are you mad at me?” Hermione blurted out, as though the break of the quiet was some cue, even if it had nothing to do with anything. 

“What?” 

“I’ve done a lot of stupid things the past month, and… and I’ve ruined everything between the three of us, between the four of us, and…” 

“Why would I be mad at you?” 

“Well, beyond the fact that I’m killing your relationship with Ginny…” 

“But you’re not…” 

“Yes, I am,” she said. “You two are always… I don’t know. You’re not who you were before I… you know…”  
   
“Vague that up a little, could you?” said Harry. 

“Do you still love her?” 

“Of course I do…” 

“Because whenever I see you two, you’re… you know… not… together…” 

“And we’re doing that by choice,” said Harry. “Hermione, we’ve both been where you are. We know what it feels like to see the whole public display of affection thing after a breakup. So we’ve decided to tone it down a little because we care about you. Doesn’t mean that we don’t love each other any less.” 

Hermione felt the weight on her heart lessen slightly. But only slightly. 

“And I’m not mad at you for breaking up with Ron, either,” Harry continued before she could ask. 

“You’re not?” 

“Little berk had it coming,” he said, taking a sip of his butterbeer. 

“Little?” Hermione said with a small chuckle. “Harry, He’s both taller _and_ older than you.” 

“Doesn’t make him any less of a berk, though, does it?” 

“So you think I made the right choice?” 

“At the time, yes.” 

“That I should move on with my life…” 

“Absolutely.” 

“That I’m better off with out him.” 

“No.” 

“Wait… what?” 

Harry sighed, setting his drink down. “Ron and I have been talking since you two broke up. A lot. I’ve been his best mate since we were eleven, but we’ve never really… talked, you know? We’ve said more to each other in the past month than we have in the past eight years. Gotten a lot of piled-up shit out of the way. I’ve seen more of him than I ever have, and that includes the night with the locket.” 

“The locket…” 

“Has he told you about it yet?” 

Hermione shook her head. “He told me… something. But I don’t think he was telling the truth. What happened?” 

“I can’t tell you that,” replied Harry. “I promised him I wouldn’t say anything, and I still hold to that promise.” 

Hermione nodded, knowing that she shouldn’t have expected anything less. Glad that Harry didn’t buckle. “So he’s talked to you, then?” 

“Yeah, he has.” 

“About you and Ginny.” 

“Among a lot of other things, yeah.” 

“What did he say?” 

“That’s also between us,” said Harry. “But just know that we’re not mad at each other anymore. It reflected a lot of my fears from when I was first discovering my feelings for Ginny, and I was glad Ron and I were both able to get it out on the table and come to some understanding.” 

Hermione nodded, but continued to stare into her drink. Harry put his hand on her shoulder. 

“You made the right choice in breaking up with him,” he said. “If you asked him, he’d say the same thing. It knocked some sense into him. Forced him to open some doors that he had been afraid to open. And I think he’s going to come out the other side a better man because of it. For both of you.” 

Hermione reached over and wrapped Harry in a fierce hug. Harry gave as good as he got, running his hand through her hair as she pressed her cheek into his shoulder. 

“I love you, Harry Potter,” she said, her voice muffled. 

“I love you, too, Hermione,” Harry replied. 

“You’re my best friend, and I shouldn’t have waited this long to… it’s just been so _hard_ …” 

“I know,” Harry said, chuckling. “Believe me, after all of the years of me _not_ coming to you for romantic advice, after thinking that I could figure it out on my own, I know.” 

Hermione snorted into her shoulder. “Noble and stupid, right?” 

“Noble and stupid,” he said, kissing her on the forehead before she pulled away, wiping tears from her eyes. 

“So where is she, anyway?” Hermione asked. 

“Ginny?” he replied, and Hermione nodded. “Up on the deck with Ron.” 

“So they’ve talked too, then?” 

“Talked? No,” Harry said. “Actually, talk _ing_ is more like. As in, right now is when Ron’s trying to do the amends thing with her.” 

“Oh, dear…” 

“Yeah, I have the _Episkey_ spells and a whole load of Nosebleed Nougat antidotes ready, just in case.” 

“Your girlfriend,” Hermione said, a small smile on her face. 

“Gotta love her,” Harry sighed. “I think it should be fine, though. Do you want to go up? Get some air?”  
   
“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head. 

“Are you sure?” 

“No,” Hermione said, laughing and sobbing at the same time. “I don’t know if I’m ready…” 

“Well, how about this?” Harry said as he and Hermione walked back to the table. “I’m going to grab my jacket, and I’m going to go upstairs. Now if I grab _your_ jacket, that will pretty much assure that you have to come upstairs at some point before we leave.” 

“You’re really not going to let me get out of this, are you?” Hermione said. 

“No. Because I think you’re ready. At least, you know, ready enough to see what happens between Ginny and her brother. You can decide on how ready or not ready you are after that. Deal?” 

Hermione sighed, grabbing her coat from her chair. “Deal. Bastard.” 

“We’ll join you in a few minutes,” Luna said from the table, and Neville gave her a quick look before Hermione and Harry pulled on their coats and ascended the stairs to the upper deck of the ship. 

Hermione felt a moment of double disorientation as she broke through into the darkness. The first was the simple fact that her eyes had to adjust from the lit cabin below to the night sky. Even with the New York skyline glowing down on them through the falling snow, it still took her some time before she could see anything. 

After that, it was the difference in size that threw her. While enlargement enchantments were placed on the interior of the cruise ship, the fact remained that they were much more difficult, and easier to detect, when placed on an outdoor surface. The deck of the _Winterberg_ looked cleaner and more secure than the Muggle-repellant charms made it appear, it was still only a fifty-foot boat’s worth of deck, at least a third of the size as the lower holds would allow her to believe. 

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Hermione scanned the deck for any sign of Ginny or Ron among the dozen or so witches and wizards lining the railing. 

“There they are,” whispered Harry, tapping her on the shoulder and pointing. 

The scene before them made Hermione’s heart swell. Almost a mirror image of where she and Harry had been just minutes before, Ginny and Ron were holding each other in a warm embrace, Ron’s hand on the back of her head, Ginny’s arms around his waist. She saw Ginny’s lips move, and saw Ron nod in affirmation. 

“Guess we won’t need those _Episkeys_ after all,” said Harry. “Unless she’s just setting herself up to toss him into the water, I can’t tell.” 

Ginny and Ron pulled away from each other, and Ginny turned her head toward the stairs. Noticing Harry and Hermione standing in the entrance, she raised her hand in greeting, and Ron turned to see them. Hermione felt her breath stop, as it was the first time they had even looked at each other since The Incident. 

Ginny turned back to Ron, saying something to him. He said something back. She nodded, and walked toward Harry and Hermione. Ron turned around, leaning against the railing, his back to them, and his face toward Battery Park. 

“Hey,” Ginny said, taking Harry’s hand. 

“Hey,” said Harry. “How’d it go?” 

“Good. He wants to talk to you,” Ginny said to Hermione. “If, you know… if you want to.” 

“I do,” Hermione whispered, nodding. “I do.” 

“Do you want us to stay?” Ginny asked, taking Hermione’s hand in her other. “Or would you rather we go downstairs?” 

“It’s up to you,” Hermione replied. “But if you want to… be nearby, it would help.” 

“We’ll be over on the other side,” Harry said, nodding toward the front of the boat. “If you need us, just call or come over, okay?” 

Hermione nodded, the swell of gratitude toward her two best friends nearly overcoming her. Instead of speaking, she turned back to New York City, and began to walk toward the man she loved above all others.


	8. Eighteen Months (And A Few Minutes) Later

Eighteen Months (And A Few Minutes) Later

 

 

Hermione Granger turned back to New York City, and toward the man that she loved above all others. 

 

She leaned against the railing to his right, feeling the cold of the iron through her jacket. She saw her breath billow from her mouth into the falling snowflakes, and in her peripheral vision saw a puff of Ron’s breath, as well. 

 

They stood together in an uncomfortable silence. He wanted to talk to her. And she wanted to talk to him. But how do you start after everything that had happened? 

 

“What are those?” Ron asked, and Hermione turned to see him pointing toward the skyline. 

 

“Which ones?” Hermione replied. 

 

“The two really tall buildings.” 

 

“It’s the World Trade Center,” she said. 

 

“Both of them?” 

 

Hermione nodded, not sure if he was even looking at her. “Yes,” she said, just to be sure. 

 

“Are they supposed to look the same?” 

 

“They’re called the Twin Towers, so, yeah.” 

 

She heard Ron chuckle, and knew that he was shaking his head in a very Arthur Weasley-like way. “Muggles,” he said. “I just don’t get it…” 

 

“You talked to Harry,” Hermione said. 

 

Ron paused. “Yeah,” he said. “I did.” 

 

“And you talked to Ginny.” 

 

“Yeah…” 

 

“How did it go?” 

 

“With who?” 

 

“Both of them?” 

 

“Harry went well,” Ron said. “He’s easy to talk to, you know? We’ve just never really talked about anything but Quidditch or our yearly ‘Who’s Trying To Kill Us’ mystery.” 

 

“And Ginny?” 

 

Ron shrugged. “She got her shots in. I knew that they were coming. And I deserved every one of them. Then she told me where she was coming from. And I told her where I was coming from. And things got straightened out, as you, you know, probably saw.” 

 

“She’s not mad at you anymore?” 

 

“She’s like you said,” Ron explained. “She’s a grown woman. I get that now. I shouldn’t have this horrible double-standard between what they do and what we do… did… you know…” 

 

“Good,” said Hermione. “I’m glad to hear it.” 

 

“Yeah…” 

 

Ron trailed off. For the next minute or two, they stood in silence, nothing but the cars on the mainland, the water lapping along the side of the boat, and the quiet chatter of the other tourists on the deck, hailing from who-knows-where. 

 

“Ron,” Hermione said quietly. “I miss you.” 

 

Ron nodded, his eyes looking down into the water. “I miss you, too.” 

 

“It helps that you’ve made a lot of progress, and… and I just… I just want to be with you again. I love you.” 

 

“I love you, too,” he said, still downcast. “But I can’t be with you. Not yet.” 

 

Hermione’s heart stopped. “Why?” 

 

“Because I haven’t done everything you’ve asked of me yet…”

 

“Ron, if this is about the locket…” 

 

“I lied to you, Hermione,” said Ron. “I hate myself for doing it. But I lied to you that afternoon. Right before you ended it. And I can’t be with you knowing that I’m living a lie.” 

 

Hermione closed her mouth. She turned to her right to see that Ginny was peeking over her shoulder on the far end of the boat before turning back to Ron. 

 

“If you need to tell me,” she said, putting her gloved hand on his. “I want you to. No matter what…” 

 

“Each of the Horcruxes were dangerous,” said Ron. “The diary nearly killed Ginny. Nagini nearly killed my dad, you, and Harry. She did killSnape and Bagshot. The ring killed Dumbledore, and Harry had to die in order to destroy the one that was inside of him. The chalice burned us, and probably would have done worse if we had tried to drink out of it, and I don’t even want to think about what the diadem would have done to our minds if one of us had tried to wear it. But the locket…” 

 

Ron pulled his hand away from Hermione, running them both through his hair in concentration. “You have to understand something,” he said. “The family tree that my Mum and Dad split off has two Head Boys and two Quidditch Captains. It has a man who, despite everything that happened, became the Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic two years out of school. It has a man who married one of the most beautiful women anyone has ever met, a Triwizard Champion. Another who wrestles dragons for a living, two that were the center of attention at any party, and who created an extremely successful business without even trying. It has one girl, the youngest, the one that my mother has wanted from the beginning. And it has me. 

 

“Suffice it to say, being even second-best in that family was a pipe dream for me from day one. 

 

“And then Harry showed up. We got along right away. Don’t misunderstand me--I love him. He’s my best mate, always has been, always will be. But it made things so much harder, standing next to The Boy Who Lived. Whenever he came to visit the Burrow, my mother would dote on him, while ordering me around. Fred and George would treat him like an equal while giving me nothing but grief. Ginny had a mad crush on him before he had even said a word to her. Didn’t even ask me about my first year of school unless it was ‘Does Harry like this?’ ‘Does Harry do that?’ ‘Did Harry really defeat You-Know-Who and make the Quidditch team?’ 

 

“And then…” Ron hesitated. “And then there was you.” 

 

Hermione turned her head up to see that he was now looking her in the eyes. 

 

“I don’t know when I first fell in love with you,” he said. “When you’re eleven-years-old it’s tough to tell what love even is, let alone when it hits you. All I know is that by the time I saw you that second summer, I had already memorized your face, your mannerisms, enough to know that you had your mother’s smile. And I had only met her for thirty seconds at Diagon Alley. When Malfoy called you a… a you know… I wanted to hurt him more than I had ever wanted to hurt anyone before. When the Basilisk Petrified you, I didn’t even know what to think. I just needed to act, but we were too hopeless to do anything about it until we found your note. 

 

“I saw your mouth changed, that you shrunk your teeth, before you even told Harry. I couldn’t build up the courage to ask you to the Yule Ball because, well, I didn’t think I was good enough to be with someone like you. I was hoping that you would go with someone like Neville or one of the twins. Because they were safe, they had enough going against them that I felt that I could make some kind of effort once the dance actually started. When I found out that you were going with Viktor, someone who I admired almost as much as I admired Harry… well, you know what happened… 

 

“And you and Harry…” Ron shook his head. “I never quite got you two. You were angry with me all of the time. Whenever you and I stopped speaking to each other, it was because I had screwed up, or said something that hurt you. But with him… it didn’t matter what he said, or what he did. The only times I ever saw you get angry with him were when he was putting himself at risk. Breaking into Umbridge’s office, fooling around with the Half-Blood Prince’s book, not putting enough attention toward the Tri-Wizard Tournament or Slughorn’s memory. You were always angry with me because you hated me, and were always angry with him because you cared about him. I would see you two together, and I would be jealous of what you had, and I was afraid that I was losing you _and_ my family to him.” 

 

“Ron, I…” 

 

“So the Horcrux came,” Ron continued. “Slytherin’s locket. It made us all think things that we didn’t want to think. Harry wore it, and he felt powerless, joyless, against the Dementors. I don’t know what it made you think…” 

 

“It made me feel like an idiot,” said Hermione. “Like the answer to everything, the answer about how to destroy them, was right in front of me, but I was too stupid to figure it out, no matter what books I read.” 

 

“It made us feel worse,” Ron said, nodding as he listened to her. “But it didn’t create anything that wasn’t already there. Harry’s always felt insecure about being able to fight, about losing everything that he loved. You’ve always been afraid that you couldn’t find the answer in time. And…” 

 

“It made you feel inferior,” Hermione said, remembering Ron lying on his cot as she and Harry madly discussed their plans regarding the Sword of Gryffindor. 

 

“It did more than that,” said Ron. “I have a feeling it loved me most of all. I had almost eighteen years of insecurities built up inside me. I was a fucking all-you-can-suck buffet for it. And when I took it off for the last time, I didn’t feel better. I felt like all of my worst fears had come true. Because you chose him. Because you loved him more than you loved me. Always had.” 

 

“I never forgot you,” she said quietly. “I was a mess. Harry and I barely looked at each other, barely spoke to each other until we went to Godric's Hollow. The hardest decision I ever made was Apparating after you left. As soon as we appeared on the other side, I completely broke down.” 

 

“The night I came back,” Ron continued. “After I heard you… Well, we told you most of what happened. Harry saw Snape’s Patronus. Went after it. Saw where Snape had put the sword under the ice and dove in after it. I saw him drowning, and I pulled him and the sword out of the water, pulled the locket off his neck when I saw that it was trying to strangle him. And he told me I should be the one to destroy it, because I was the one that rescued him, rescued the sword, that I was the one worthy to carry it.” 

 

“And you were…” 

 

“It didn’t feel like it at the time,” Ron snorted. “I felt like an ass for leaving you two alone. Felt like I pulled the sword out, saved his life, by accident. And, honestly, the locket scared the piss out of me. I was hoping you two had already done away with it by then. 

 

“But, it wasn’t the case. And so Harry told me to get ready. And he opened it. And… and it took me.” 

 

“Took you?” 

 

“When I wore it, it read me like a book. And when Harry opened it, it made it all… real. I saw you. And I saw Harry. And you told me how worthless I was, how you hated me. And Harry told me that my mother would rather have him as a son, would have rather have raised him, rather had me die by Voldemort’s hand, would… and how you would rather be with him, how EVERYONE would rather be with him, and then I saw you two… you…” 

 

“You saw us together,” Hermione said, her hand on her mouth as Ron’s head fell into his hands. 

 

“Together’s a nice way of putting it,” he said. “Snogging’s another way. Kissing, making out, tongue-fucking. Probably would have gotten more X-rated, too, if I hadn’t completely snapped.” 

 

“But you destroyed it, Ron,” Hermione said. “You didn’t listen to it…” 

 

“But I did,” Ron said, looking at her, his eyes pleading. “For just a split-second, I listened to it. And you were there, and Harry was there, and Harry was also behind it, holding it open and screaming for me to kill it and for a moment, part of me wanted to drive that fucking sword into his face and get him out of my life and I hate myself for it!” 

 

Hermione watched as the man she loved start to cry, the tears rolling down his long nose and into the water below. She knew that she should put a hand on his shoulder, but feared that he would pull away if she did. 

 

“So I lay there,” he said finally. “Like a quivering pile of jelly. My mind was still seeing what the locket showed me: you and Harry happily together. But I think most of it was that I had just had the worst thought I would ever have in my life. I never thought I could hurt Harry, let alone want to kill him. Part of me didn’t want to move. And part of me wanted to throw myself into the lake, or stick the sword in my chest, and just end it all, because I deserved it. 

 

“And Harry knew what he saw. Knew what the locket had done, that it had been showing me my worst fear. I think he knew that I had that moment of hesitation, might have seen the tip of the sword tip toward him. But he came over to me. And he knelt down beside me. And he talked to me. I can still remember everything that he said. ‘After you left,’ he said, ‘she cried for a week. Probably longer, only she didn’t want me to see. There were loads of nights when we never even spoke to each other.’ 

 

“’She’s like a sister to me,’ he said. ‘I love her like a sister and I reckon she feels the same way about me. It’s always been like that. I thought you knew.’” 

 

“That’s how it’s always been,” Hermione said, feeling that she could touch him now. “I do love Harry. And, yes, he is like my brother. There’s never been anything there romantically. I could never love him as much…” 

 

“’I thought you knew,’ he said,” Ron continued. “But I didn’t know. I didn’t get it. Before a few weeks ago, I still didn’t get it. My whole life has been family and friends. Two separate parts, never the twain shall meet. I had so many brothers to compete with, so many cousins and nephews and aunts and uncles that I didn’t understand how someone would need to find more. 

 

“Family had always come first for me. It had been ingrained in me from the moment I came out into the world. That’s why I always treated Ginny like I did. From day one, when she showed up to Hogwarts, my mum made it perfectly clear that Ginny was my responsibility. After the Chamber of Secrets, I felt like I had failed her. So I did everything that I could to make sure that I didn’t screw up again. I wanted to be something more than a failure to my parents, and seeing Ginny grow up, become independent, was a black mark against me because I didn’t know how my parents would react to, you know, the thought of their little angel becoming popular, or boy-happy, or even worse under my watch. 

 

“But I realized that there was more to it,” he said. “After I talked to Harry, after I talked to Ginny. Family’s not an obligation. It’s… I never got Harry. I knew that his parents had died and left him as an only child. For some reason, though, it never registered. I always thought ‘Well, he has the Dursleys. They may suck, but they’re the only family he has.’ So I saw you and him together, and I never thought of anything else but competition. I never even considered what Harry saw in Hagrid. Or Sirius. Or Dumbledore, or Lupin, or even my own parents. I thought Bill and my mum were just being polite when they came to see him at the Tournament. Never for a moment did I think that Harry actually loved my mum as, you know, a mum.” 

 

“Family’s not about obligation,” said Hermione quietly. “It’s about love. It’s about having someone you need to be with that you don’t have anywhere else. Before a year ago, I was an only child as much as Harry is. My parents may still be alive, but they’ve never really been able to understand everything that I’ve gone through. So I feel the same way about your parents as Harry does, and I feel the same way about him, and about Ginny, and Neville and Luna, as Harry feels about me…” 

 

“And after Harry and I talked over the past few weeks, it’s hit me, too,” Ron said. “After I destroyed the locket, it… Harry could have hated me for feeling like I did, for seeing what he saw. Could have known that he was an inch away from dying by my hand. Could have left me alone to fix myself up before dragging my sorry arse back to the tent or back home again. But he didn’t. He comforted me. Told me what I needed to hear, which was the truth. And he hugged me. Like a brother. Carried my load with him as we went back for your… um… unique brand of welcome.” 

 

“Ron,” Hermione breathed. “If I had known what you two had gone through…” 

 

“Hermione, I deserved every last inch of what you gave me that night,” Ron said, and she was relieved to see a small smile cross his face. “More than you possibly could have imagined at the time. Hell, considering what I had put myself through, what I thought I deserved, I thought I got off light. Canaries… you could have tossed a pack of ostriches at me and it still would have felt like heaven.” 

 

“I’m fairly sure ostriches run in flocks,” said Hermione. “But I’ll have to look it up.” 

 

“And that’s the girl I fell in love with,” Ron sighed, looking back toward the water in what Hermione felt, in relief, was a comfortable silence. 

 

“So…” Hermione said. “Is that everything? Because you know I still love you after all of that, right?” 

 

“Almost everything,” Ron said. “I guess I still have to get to my point, don’t I?” 

 

“There was a point beyond hearing you say more incredible things than I’ve ever heard you say?” 

 

Ron smiled, then closed his eyes in concentration. “I’m not the perfect man,” he said quietly. “I know it. I’ve always known it. And I’ve never really known what love is, what family is, until I had you in my life, Hermione. I’ve become a better man because of you. And I want to keep improving as each day goes on, to make myself better for you. But I can’t do it without you beside me. 

 

“As part of my family.” 

 

Ron reached into his pocket. 

 

\---------

 

“Oh my God…” Ginny breathed as she looked over her shoulder for what felt like the dozenth time since she and Harry had reluctantly left Hermione to whatever fate may come. 

 

“What?” Harry said, turning around. 

 

“Is he actually…?” 

 

Ginny grabbed Harry’s arm and squeezed tightly as they watched Ron drop to one knee across the ship. 

 

“The prat’s actually proposing!” Ginny squealed, and Harry felt like his arm was going to be torn off. 

 

They watched as Ron opened pulled the small box from his pocket, opened it, showed it to Hermione. Watched as she put her hand over her mouth. Watched her nod. Watched as Ron stood up again and kissed her. 

 

And then Ginny was gone, sprinting across the deck, which was thankfully enchanted to prevent slipping in the snow. Harry carefully walked a few paces behind her, his hands in his pockets as Luna, Neville, Dean, and Seamus came up from below. 

 

“Did we miss it?” Luna asked him. 

 

“Just in time,” Harry smiled as Ginny plowed into Hermione, almost knocking her over the railing with her hug. 

 

“Oh, good,” said Luna as the three men passed by her to join Ron. “She said ‘yes,’ correct?” 

 

“God, I hope so,” Harry laughed. “We didn’t actually hear anything. Just saw a nod and a kiss.” 

 

“I believe that would be a ‘yes,’ then,” she said, and the two walked over to the group, as Ginny had closed Ron in just as tight of a hug as she had given Hermione, and the three men were exchanging their congratulations with her, and taking a look at the ring. 

 

“You’re going to let me see that, right?” Harry said to Hermione who immediately ran over and hugged him. 

 

“You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?” she growled in his ear. 

 

“I thought it might,” Harry replied. “He was going to save it for Christmas, but after everything that happened, he thought it might be appropriate, if everything went well. The skyline, you know?” 

 

“Kid did a lot of growing in a month,” Hermione said as Harry and Ron embraced. 

 

“Congratulations,” Harry said. 

 

“It was all you, mate,” said Ron. 

 

“Doubtful…” 

 

“Okay,” Ron said, pulling away and punching Harry in the shoulder. “Your turn.” 

 

“What?” Harry said. “You sure?” 

 

“Absolutely,” Ron said. 

 

“Well,” Harry cleared his throat. “I thought a little bit later. You know, I don’t want to steal your thunder.” 

 

“Storm’s passed, Harry. Steal away.” 

 

Harry shrugged. “Alright, then.” And he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box of his own. 

 

It took Ginny Weasley a few moments before she even realized what was happening. Harry Potter was already on his knee, Hermione’s hands were already over her mouth, her friends were already grinning broadly at her, before she fully understood. 

 

“I’m not much for words,” said Harry to her. “But I love you more than I can say. You were my hope when I was in the wilderness, my last comfort before the dark. I can’t imagine you not beside me. I promised you that I would never leave you again. And I intend to keep that promise, if you want me to…” 

 

“Yes!” Ginny screamed, and the others burst into laughter. 

 

“Well, that was easy,” Harry chuckled. 

 

“No, no, sorry,” Ginny said, her face turning all shades of red, waving her hands and reminding Harry very much of the ten-year-old Ginny Weasley he first met on Platform 9 3/4. “Ask me. Ask me.” 

 

“Ginevra Weasley,” Harry asked, “will you marry me?” 

 

“I already gave you the answer, now get up here and kiss me.” 

 

And he did.

 


	9. Twenty-Two Months Later: Housewarming

  
Author's notes: This chapter contains RT-rated content.  


* * *

 

 

  
Ron and Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter sat in an exhausted silence as the moon rose high above the small house in Tutshill. The last twelve hours ( _God, has it been twelve hours?_ Ron thought has he looked around for the clock, realizing that it hadn't yet been unpacked) had gone by in an agonizingly wearying blur of people, places, and things. 

 

 

And things. 

 

 

And... well... _things_. 

 

 

Ron couldn't figure out which part had been the worst. Was it helping to collect Ginny's belongings, scattered through eighteen years of Burrow living, sorting her things from his things, from Bill's, Charlie's, Percy's, that had collected through the years? Was it helping George separate Ginny's things from his own? Finding little trinkets amid the clutter that only reminded him of the twin that he lost? 

 

 

Maybe it was helping Hermione with her half of the move. Ron was grateful that she was so meticulous and orderly. It was difficult enough moving her from her parents' Muggle house in Oxford, trying to wrestle with beds, wardrobes, and boxes, oh the boxes, with very limited use of magic. It would have been infinitely worse if it hadn't all been in one place by the time they got there. 

 

 

Or it could have been the people. The moving in of Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley to the home in Gloucester probably could have gone faster than it did. They quickly discovered, however, that their initial call for assistance yielded an unexpectedly large turnout for two girls, one of whom would only be calling the small, two-story home for a year or two before Hermione's new husband took her place. And, as the saying goes, too many potion-makers spoil the cauldron. 

 

 

Charlotte and Daniel Granger were a great help, of course, as were the Weasleys. Arthur and Molly, as parents usually do, were assisting from minute one. Arthur spent much of his time at the Grangers' going through Hermione's boxes, looking at all the amazing can openers and bathroom scales that they contained. Molly was a little more helpful, but would still pause, sniff a tear, and insist on hugging the boys or seeing the girls' rings whenever she happened to have a moment. Four months after the engagements were announced, and she was still enthralled. 

 

 

Percy and Penelope were there fairly soon after, but Percy popped out for an hour or two, as duty called (as it always did). George stayed long enough to help at the Burrow before heading back to the shop. Ron and Ginny were both taking the day off, so it was left to Verity, Lee, and himself to run the place this weekend. 

 

 

Charlie politely declined the offer to move, as he was back in Romania, but Bill and Fleur were there. Bill helped as much as anyone, and Fleur, who was bulging at seven months with their first child, did her part by unpacking small boxes and assisting in the control of Hermione Caroline and Teddy. Both were at or around that two-year mark, and discovering that, yes, they weren't the only two-year-olds in the world. It was the first time the children had been in each other’s presence, and it was comfort and a relief to know that they got along quite well. Caroline, who was still sporting her mother's blond hair, took an avid interest in Teddy's own. It was still fluctuating madly, alternating between natural colors and bright pastels at a moment's notice. 

 

 

"Dora's was the same way when she was that age," said Andromeda Tonks to Harry as they sat on the front step of the new house during a brief break in the action. "They do gain control over it, enough where they can hold their natural form. But to get to the level she was at, where he can change into whoever he chooses, he'll definitely need to be trained. If he wants to, that is..." 

 

 

Soon after Andromeda's arrival, Neville and his grandmother came to help, with Luna and Xenophilius in tow.  Dean, Seamus, and the Patil twins showed shortly before lunch ("You're just here for the food, aren't you?" said Ginny to Seamus, who just smiled and shrugged) and brought with them Lavender Brown's regrets. 

 

 

"She's still not comfortable coming out in public," Parvati quietly told Ron of his ex-girlfriend, brutally mauled in the Battle of Hogwarts. "But she does ask you to send her an invitation to the wedding. She might be ready to make some appearance by then." 

 

 

The ever-expanding group felt as though it doubled in size when Hagrid, pulling a weekend break from the Hogwarts grounds, showed around four, trying his best to help outside after he realized that getting into the house might prove difficult with the low ceilings. 

 

 

"Thank God you picked a wizarding neighborhood," Harry said to Hermione as he watched the half-giant lumber across the front yard, carrying a couch over his shoulder. “Draws attention, doesn’t he?” 

 

 

As the sun sank lower in the sky, and especially after George decided to close shop early and bring Verity and Lee with him, the moving party had become less "moving" and more "party." Groups were milling around on the lawn or in the living room, using unopened boxes as chairs whenever they found the actual chairs occupied. Molly surveyed the scene, made the calculation that these now two to three dozen witches and wizards had yet to give the two happy couples a proper celebration since their announcement in December, and quickly called to order an impromptu housewarming/engagement dinner. With the help of whoever decided to slip in and out of the kitchen, Molly whipped up one hell of a feast of cold sandwiches and hot soups to break in Hermione and Ginny's new kitchen. The sun was shining particularly warm for an April day, so it wasn't much of a burden for the guests to spread out, eating both inside and out. 

 

 

Later than the four expected (or hoped) the party guests thinned out. For the last hour or so, the group had been reduced to just six. Luna kept nodding off on Neville's shoulder (he didn't seem to be complaining, Ron noticed) so they also made their goodbyes, leaving a physically and socially wearied quartet in their wake. 

 

 

"Oh, Merlin," Ron groaned stiffly from the cushioned chair. "Remind me to never move again. Ever." 

 

 

"Once I get the energy to get up," said Ginny from the couch, her head on Harry's shoulder. "I'll unpack a tea cozy. Put it on your head. No one will ever know you're there." 

 

 

"Do you even have a tea cozy?" Harry asked. "And, if you do, do you even know where you packed it?" 

 

 

"Hell, I don't even know where I packed my underwear," Ginny said, wearily looking around the piles of cardboard boxes that still lined the living room. "Hermione, where are my knickers?" 

 

 

"On your bum," said Hermione, sprawled on the carpet. "Otherwise, I have no idea." 

 

 

"You're Hermione. I've seen all of your graphs." 

 

 

Hermione snorted laughter. "You've figured out my well-crafted deception. In your bedroom, on your left, third box from the bottom. Marked 34B."  

 

 

Harry laughed, and Ron smiled as he looked down at Hermione. There were many things that amazed Ron Weasley about the woman he had asked to marry only four months ago. The tables and flowcharts that she designed for herself and Ginny to ease the transition from their parents' homes to their new living accommodations were just the tip of the iceberg. As was the fact that she actually had them all memorized. 

 

 

Ginny yawned, and then curled herself sleepily to Harry's side. "This whole friendship is a tangled web of lies," she said to Hermione with a small smile. "I don't know how we can live this charade much longer." 

 

 

"It'll make the whole flatmate situation a lot more difficult," said Hermione, stretching, but otherwise refusing to move. 

 

 

"I don't need to put up with it for long," said Ginny. "I forgot to tell you. I'm engaged." 

 

 

"To who?" 

 

 

"Harry Potter." 

 

 

Hermione's mouth fell open in mock agitation. "You two-timing tramp," she gasped. "I thought we had something special." 

 

 

"Yes, well, he gave me candy." 

 

 

Hermione sighed. "All of those drunken truth or dare nights, all of those times you modeled your sexy lingerie for me... was that for nothing?" 

 

 

"Anyone else get a really disturbing image in their head?" Ron said, raising his hand. 

 

 

Harry looked at him, confused. "Not disturbing. Quite the opposite." 

 

 

"Oh, yeah, that's right," Ron said. "I'm the only one in the room with a _literal_ sister involved in all of this." 

 

 

"That's right," said Harry, a small smile on his face. "I'm perfectly comfortable imagining the fake bisexual talk..." 

 

 

“And who says it’s fake?” Ginny teased. 

 

 

"Don't worry," Hermione said to Ron. "I'm sure Ginny would feel the same way if I started talking about you and Harry snogging." 

 

 

"Ugh." Ginny's shudder mirrored those of her brother and her fiancé, and Hermione grinned wickedly. 

 

 

"I'm having second thoughts about this living situation," said Ron. "I don't know if I'm comfortable with you two having all of this time and space to just yourselves. My sister's become a bad influence on you." 

 

 

"Yeah, right," said Ginny. "Like it's going to be just _our_ space. You two might as well set up a tent." 

 

 

"Not tonight, though," Harry said, yawning. "Speaking of, Grimmauld Place beckons. I'm flatmateless tonight, right, flatmate?" 

 

 

Ron felt the ball of nerves in his stomach momentarily tighten. He looked down to Hermione on the floor, who looked back up at him. 

 

 

"You can stay if you want," she said quietly. 

 

 

"Yeah," said Ron, his mouth suddenly becoming quite dry. "Yeah, you're flatmateless." 

 

 

"Brilliant," Harry said as he and Ginny carefully pulled themselves to their feet. "I'm allowed to extend an invitation to Miss Weasley?" 

 

 

"I love how you pretend Ron has any say in the matter," Ginny said, smirking at her brother, who made a face and gave her the fingers. 

 

 

"What time should we be expecting you back?" asked Hermione to Ginny, who shrugged. 

 

 

"Whenever," she said. "I might send an owl to Mum and Dad once I get to Grimmauld. They were talking about sneaking us all out for tea tomorrow, and we'll probably want to sleep in." 

 

 

"I'll take care of it," said Ron. "As long as we have to play the deception card, it would probably be better to send it from here with Hermione's new owl. Harry and I at least have an excuse to be writing from here, since we were all here when they left. They might start giving you grief if you're writing from Harry's place." 

 

 

"Wow," said Ginny. "Actually trying to keep me out of trouble without locking me in my room. You're right, Hermione, he's getting better." 

 

 

"Well, they'll be giving _me_ grief, too," admitted Ron. "If they pop in here in the morning to find just the two of us... Well, I can't say that they won't figure things out eventually. Hell, they probably _have_ already figured things out. I just want to keep it out of their face as long as I can." 

 

 

"I wasn't complaining, oh brother of mine," Ginny said, bending down to the chair to kiss him on the cheek. "I appreciate it. Really." 

 

 

"Good," he said. "Just don't do anything I wouldn't do, you hear?" 

 

 

"Yes, Father," Ginny said, rolling her eyes and taking Hermione's hand, which she extended from the floor. "Have fun, you two." 

 

 

"See you in the morning," Hermione said, apparently not having the energy to even get up, and squeezed Ginny's hand, then Harry's in farewell. 

 

 

"Should I at least say we'll be good for supper?" called Ron as Ginny and Harry approached the front door. "Can you be back around five?" 

 

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance. "I think we should be able to pull ourselves together for that," said Harry. "See you then." 

 

 

The couple stepped out the front door, and before it even closed behind them Ron and Hermione heard the distinctive _pop_ as they Apparated to London, almost 200 kilometers away. 

 

 

Ron looked down at Hermione, who glanced back at him with a weary, yet penetrating gaze, and he suddenly realized that they were alone. Really, truly alone for the first time since they started dating. No worries about people barging in, or discovering them in some awkward position. No worries about a bedroom door knocking, or someone rolling over in their sleep in a tent to see a hand below the equator or a flash of skin beneath a pulled-up pajama top. No one was even expected to arrive at the house until tomorrow evening. It felt like an eternity... 

 

 

"I should probably get that owl taken care of," he said hoarsely. 

 

 

"Okay," Hermione said, and he could tell in her voice that she was thinking the same thing that he was. 

 

 

"Don't fall asleep on me, okay?" 

 

 

Hermione shook her head sleepily, her bushy brown hair spreading out on the floor. She crossed her hands over her belly, covered in a dark green button-down shirt ("One of my grubbies," she had called it earlier in the day), and closed her eyes. _She looks wonderful_ , he thought, and his stomach did a flip; he quickly stood up and walked to the kitchen. 

 

 

\---------

 

 

Harry performed the Side-Along Apparition, since he was by far the most experienced of the pair. As Ginny wrapped her arms around him, smelled his scent in her nostrils; she had to fight back the nearly overwhelming urge to kiss him. 

 

 

_I wonder what it would be like to snog while you’re Apparating,_ she thought, but decided in the end that the risk for Splinching would be far too great if she threw off his _Destination, Determination, Deliberation_ mantra. But that didn’t stop her from pressing her lips to his as soon as she felt her feet land on the front step of number twelve Grimmauld Place. She leaned into him, pushing him against the door with the full length of her body, and he responded as well as he could with his tongue and with one hand while the other fought valiantly for the doorknob. 

 

 

Even though ninety percent of her mind was on getting this man’s clothes off as quickly as possible, the other ten steeled itself for the onslaught that was to occur when they stepped through the door. It didn’t take her long, though, to remember that Alastor Moody’s defensive spells had faded to nothing at some point while they were on tour. And, more importantly, a much more agreeable Kreacher had finally conceded to take down the painting of Sirius’s mother, Walburga Black, soon after Harry had moved in. 

 

 

“Permanent Sticking Charms are only permanent to wizards, Mistress Ginevra,” Kreacher had explained as he carried the screaming portrait to the attic, casting a permanent Muffliato curse on the door on his way out. “House-elves like Kreacher need to unstick things often.” 

 

 

“I’m not used to the quiet,” Ginny said now, pulling herself away from Harry long enough to take a breath. 

 

 

“Nice, isn’t it?” 

 

 

Ginny nodded, and they were kissing again, bumbling through the darkened hallway. She tore off Harry’s shirt, and tossed it behind her to wherever. She felt his cool hands on her bare sides as he untucked her Weird Sisters t-shirt. Raising her arms, he pulled it off her and left it lie. She dove right back in. 

 

 

“I thought you were tired,” Harry said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. 

 

 

“Second wind,” she breathed, taking a chunk of his hair in her tightened fist as he kissed and bit her neck and shoulder. “Looking forward to this all day. Wasn’t gonna sleep.” 

 

 

Harry said something incomprehensible into her shoulder. Or he may have just groaned. Ginny heard the umbrella stand (no longer a troll leg, thankfully; that had gone into the attic with the painting and the house-elf wall mounts) tip over. 

 

 

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, and Ginny wasn’t sure if it was because he knocked it over, or because he was having trouble unsnapping her bra. Whatever the case, a few moments later, she felt the tightness around her midsection ease, and she dropped her arms and let the blue lace brassiere (she had worn it because it was Harry’s favorite and she wanted to show off, but who can really plan these things, anyway?) fall to the floor. 

 

 

“Kreacher’s going to go ballistic when he sees our mess,” Harry said. 

 

 

“He’s not here, is he?” 

 

 

“He should be at Hogwarts,” Harry said, looking around, and called out, “Are you here, Krea--?” 

 

 

Ginny put her hand quickly over his mouth. “If you call for him, he’ll show up.” 

 

 

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I still have to get used to that.” 

 

                                                                       

“I’m starting to like the little git, but I really don’t want an audience tonight.” 

 

 

“Fair enough.” His mouth was back on hers, one hand now squeezing a tiny breast while the other was on the small of her back, pulling her into him. Waves of electricity flew through her from her already rock-hard nipples, and she thrust her hips forward. She felt the small patch of wetness, there all day, growing larger in her knickers, which were starting to feel itchy, tight, needing to be removed as fast as possible. 

 

 

Ginny felt herself launch forward as Harry fell back. She landed on top of him at a forty-five degree angle, and she heard a small thump and an exclamation of pain. 

 

 

“I found the stairs,” Harry grunted, holding the back of his head. 

 

 

“Oh, my God,” Ginny said, gasping and giggling and putting her hand atop his. “Are you okay?” 

 

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, hissing in pain. “Ow. Remind me to carpet this thing. Our kids are going to kill themselves.” 

 

 

“Small steps,” said Ginny. “Marriage first. Then shagging. Then kids.” 

 

 

Harry smiled and raised his hips. She could feel his erection against the seam of her jeans, and she moaned, her hand tightening on his. His tongue stuck out, quickly flicking her nipple. She grew goosebumps. 

 

 

“Correction,” she said. “Shagging first. Then marriage. Then _more_ shagging. Then kids.” 

 

 

“Do you want to?” Harry asked as they ground against each other. 

 

 

“Have sex?” Ginny asked in response. 

 

 

Harry nodded. 

 

 

“Right now?”

 

 

 

“Well, when we get to my room…” 

 

 

Ginny’s clit throbbed. Eight years worth of thoughts, fantasies, desires flew through her mind, never knowing that it would lead to tonight, yet always believing.

 

 

She smiled. 

 

 

“Race you to the top.” 

 

 

\---------

 

 

A flutter of wings greeted Ron’s arrival as he turned on the kitchen light. The young tawny owl, the girls' housewarming present from Percy, stared at Ron from her cage, which sat on the table. Hermione hadn't been expecting to receive an owl, so had not been able to find a place for her yet. 

 

 

"Hey, Artemisia," Ron said, pulling a quill from the drawer and a piece of parchment from a stack which someone had formed on a nearby counter. "Got a little job for you." 

 

 

As he scribbled the note to his parents, a thought attacked him from what felt like nowhere. 

 

 

_They're going to be shagging tonight,_ it said. 

 

 

A chill went down Ron's spine. That wave of instinct to protect his sister, bred through eighteen-and-a-half years of stern practice, pushed forward. And he went on the counter-offensive. 

 

 

_It's her life,_ he pushed back. _I have to let her live it._

 

 

This wasn't the first time the voice had attacked since Ron had spoken to Ginny in New York, since Harry had made his true intentions known just minutes after Ron had made his to Hermione. Ron was glad to discover that it was weakening with each resultant strike. Maybe one of these days it would disappear completely. 

 

 

He looked down at the note he had written to discover that a long black line had shot across the page. Sighing in frustration, he rolled it into a ball, tossed it in the rubbish bin, and took another parchment. As he re-dipped his quill, he discovered that his mind was still uneasy. 

 

 

Harry and Ginny may be having sex tonight. When he and Harry first began to _talk_ talk back in November, Ron had learned that they hadn't gone "all the way" by that point. Tonight may be their first, or it may have happened already, at some unknown point in time, on some occasion where they were alone long enough, that Ron couldn't calculate. 

 

 

_It's fine,_ he thought. _I can handle that. I_ should _be able to handle that._

 

 

_But what is Hermione expecting tonight?_

 

 

This wasn't the first time that Ron had had these thoughts today. Before, they had touched him only slightly, as he was too busy hauling, or sorting, or talking to his friends and family to think about much else. But as he stood in the silent kitchen, parchment dangling in one hand, he thought of the young woman lying prone on the floor in the next room. The image filled him with a nervous tension that he hadn't felt since his first Quidditch match. 

 

 

_And we all know how that turned out,_ he thought, before forcing himself to take a second shot at the note, his stomach suddenly regretting that second helping of onion soup. 

 

 

He wanted to have sex with Hermione. Obviously. He loved her. Was going to marry her. If he was going to have a first time, an every time, it was going to be with her, and he wanted to make her as happy and as pleased as possible. And deeper down, on that more primal level, he simply _wanted_ her. Wanted to feel what it would be like to be inside of her. And from the way that he felt her squirm, felt her press against him during some of their heavier petting sessions, he knew that she felt the same. But... 

 

 

_We've barely done anything,_ he thought. _We've been together for almost two years, and we've barely had any..._

 

 

There was the night two weeks after the battle, when she had snuck into his room. That was, for all intents and purposes, the most that they had ever done, the farthest along the path that they had ever traveled. And they had only been dating for a week or so. One would have expected it to happen again at some point in the two years since. 

 

 

But, no. After that was the trip to Australia with the Minister of Magic along for the ride. Then was their final year at Hogwarts, where they had to wrestle with their newfound roles as, well, role models. Harry and Ginny had found ways around the scrutiny, the bulging, awed eyes of eleven-year-olds staring at all of them as if they were some kind of celebrities, but he and Hermione had been unable to escape nearly constant attention.  They had been with Harry, after all.  Had helped him fight and defeat Voldemort.  They weren’t The Chosen One, weren’t The Savior, or whatever else Harry was being called by the press and by his classmates, but Ron and Hermione were still, as the Muggles put it, B-List Celebrities. 

 

 

What could he expect, though? Harry and Ginny were the rebels. Unlike Hermione and, to a lesser extent, himself, they didn't have ethical issues with sneaking off to quiet bathrooms in the middle of the night. 

 

 

Besides, lucky bastards had themselves an Invisibility Cloak. Ron had at one point been tempted to ask Harry what he thought James and Lily had done beneath that cloak. Or his grandparents. Or great-grandparents. Maybe the thought of what was essentially fooling around in his parents' bed might give Harry the heebie-jeebies enough to cut it out. In the end, though, Ron decided that reminding Harry of his parents, no matter the context, probably wasn't the nicest way to go, and left them to it. 

 

 

After that, it was a month of home (He at the Burrow, Hermione with her family in Oxford) before they left to go on tour. Hermione, interested in all of the sights, had barely given herself any time away from the main group, so they had not shared any guard posts like Harry and Ginny had on that now-infamous day in Peru. And the nights the two spent in the girls' tent forced their fun to be kept to a minimum. Maybe only two or three nights did they get up enough courage, enough hormones, to raise a t-shirt, or reach into a pair of underwear and quietly help each other out as Hermione pushed her mouth into his shoulder or bit her hand as she softly moaned with his advances. 

 

 

The fact of the matter was that, in two years, Ron could only count five or six times when he and Hermione had done enough to bring him to an awkward, messy orgasm. He tried his best with Hermione during those times, fumbling fingers around completely new territory within her knickers. Despite everything with Lavender, his hands had only touched her breasts once or twice, and never found skin. Almost everything with Hermione was a new experience, and he hoped that her number was about the same as his. But he had heard enough stories about women, enough whispers in the Gryffindor dorm room, to know that they didn't always actually have one, and would tell the man that they did in order to get them to stop trying. 

 

 

So, in the end, most of the sexual experiences between the couple happened in Ron’s own mind, his own bed after another night of frustration. He could only hope that Hermione was doing the same in her own to alleviate the tension, but he hadn’t built up enough courage to ask if she herself even masturbated. 

 

 

"Out you come, girl," Ron said, rolling the parchment up and opening the cage. Artemisia, named after the first female Minister of Magic, hopped backward, giving Ron a distrustful glare. 

 

 

"You're gonna have to get used to me one of these days," he said as she reluctantly climbed onto his arm. "You and Pig are going to be sharing delivery time. Too bad you’re the big one, you'll be taking most of the heavy loads." 

 

 

The small tawny owl (Percy had bought her young, so she was maybe only half the size that she would eventually become) hopped down onto the table and stuck her leg out. 

 

 

"I'll bring him around sometime," said Ron, tying the note to her leg. "You'll like him. He's a little hyper, but you'll like him. Now, take this to my mum and dad. That's Arthur and Molly Weasley at The Burrow in Devon. You'll learn the fastest route, eventually, I'm sure. You'll probably be flying there more than anywhere else in the next few years." 

 

 

The owl climbed back onto his arm and he walked her to the kitchen window. 

 

 

"Try to get there by sunrise," he said. "Or you're going to get us in a lot of trouble. Oh, and..." 

 

 

He turned toward the living room, then leaned into the owl and whispered, "Wish me luck, right?" 

 

 

Artemisia hooted softly, then flew out into the dark April night. Ron closed the window, turned around, took a deep breath, and walked back into the living room. 

 

 

Hermione still lay on the floor, in the identical position where he had left her. Her eyes were closed, and her chest was rising and falling slightly. Thankfully, she had chosen an area where the boxed paraphernalia was at a minimum, and Ron was able to find enough space to lie down beside her. Resting on his side, he laid one arm across her stomach and nudged himself up against her. He felt her stir, and she turned to look at him. 

 

 

"Hi," he whispered. 

 

 

"Hi," she whispered. 

 

 

"You promised you weren't going to fall asleep," he said, smiling. 

 

 

"Mmmm," she said, rolling over to face him. "I didn't fall asleep, did I?" 

 

 

"You looked peaceful enough. Minimal snoring. Mumbling something about garden gnomes." 

 

 

Hermione smiled back, her face now inches from his. "Liar." 

 

 

His hand landed on her hip. Her hand landed on his cheek. And they were kissing. Softly. Their energy levels, while feeling like they were increasing by the moment, were still on their lowest setting, and the kisses were gentle, tongues barely touching through parted lips. Ron heard Hermione's breath through her nose, felt her hand slide from his cheek to the back of his neck. Hesitantly, he allowed himself to reach back further, running his hand along her spine through her shirt, feeling the brief plastic of her bra clasp before moving to the nape of her neck, and back down to the small of her back. 

 

 

_Too fast,_ part of him said. 

 

 

_Too slow,_ another part responded. 

 

 

It had always been this way with them. If he and Lavender had been a rugby match, then he and Hermione were a dance. Seven years of liking each other and loathing each other had changed into two years of loving each other, yet still sniping, still occasionally awkward. Always walking that tightrope where one false move, one false word, could have ended things for weeks at a time, maybe forever. It showed in their movements. In their touches. Wanting to please. Afraid to make that one wrong move. Afraid to miss the chance to make the right move. 

 

Hermione's hand left his neck and moved down to his shirt. She paused at his waist, pondering, before sliding inside the plain gray fabric and to his back. Fingers sent sparks along his spine. The passion, the intensity of their kisses, increased. She paused again, and eventually moved to the front of his shirt, running her palm along his bare chest. Ron decided that this was a signal; it was safe to proceed. He untucked her shirt, slipping his hand beneath, feeling her soft belly, and up, feeling the firm fabric beneath, cupping her breasts. 

 

Always testing. 

 

He felt her stop momentarily beside him, considering, and his heart froze. _Did I go too far? Too fast?_

 

She reached down to his waist, grabbing the hem of his shirt and awkwardly pulling it from his body. Both of her hands massaged his chest, and he could hear her breath increasing, could feel it through her nose on his cheek. 

 

He wiggled his fingers, able to get two beneath her bra. Felt her soft nipple against his fingertip. She moaned quietly into his mouth, and he felt her twist beside him. 

 

Always experimenting. 

 

"Do..." Ron croaked, pulling away and looking into her eyes with what he hoped was confidence and manliness. "Do you want to go upstairs?" 

 

Hermione's breath stopped. She stared at him. Into him. He felt her hand tighten against his shoulder. She inhaled deeply, and he could see her building up the courage that he himself had been building since he came back from the kitchen. 

 

She closed her eyes and nodded. 

 

"Yes, I do," she said, exhaling as she spoke. "I want to." 

 

"Okay," he said, amazed that only a few simple words could start an avalanche in his gut. He pulled his hand from beneath her bra, from beneath her shirt, and sat up, grabbing his t-shirt from where it had landed a foot away from his head. He looked at her briefly as she sat up, reaching around behind her and readjusting the straps beneath her shirt. She looked back and smiled. The parts of her face that weren't already red ( _Dammit, why didn't I shave today?_ Ron thought at sight of the blotched skin around her lips, irritated from his scratching stubble) turned pink, and she pulled herself to her feet. 

 

They walked up the stairs to Hermione's room in silence. Ron wondered if he should hold her hand. Or say something witty. Or something _anything_. But he was too nervous to make any move but left foot, right foot. 

_God, I hope I don't screw this up._

 

\---------  
  


Ginny beat Harry to the top. Of course, she did have a head start, as she was able to pin him to the stairs as she pushed herself forward, and he had to roll over, straightening his glasses before following. 

 

Besides, with her in front, Harry had the additional distraction of being forced to stare at a beautiful, topless redhead. And that just wasn’t fair. He would have to do something about it. 

 

He followed just steps behind as they entered his bedroom. He expected to meet her on his bed, but was surprised when she turned around and nearly tackled him with a kiss as soon as he crossed the threshold. Breasts pressed against his bare chest, they groped at each other, making sure their wands were pulled from their pockets before they attacked each other’s pants. Spinning in circles as they approached the bed, he wasn’t even sure how often Ginny’s feet touched the ground. He had her jeans off. She had his jeans off. She had his boxers off, and he almost tripped over them as they left his ankles. He removed her blue lace knickers, which he assumed matched the bra downstairs; he really hadn’t had time to study it before it flew off into the wild blue yonder. 

 

And they were on the bed. And Ginny was straddling him once again. She ground herself against his stomach, moaning into his mouth. Her opening was maddeningly close to his cock, and it was all he could do to not just pull her down onto him. 

 

_This is actually my first time?_ Harry thought. _God, is this how I’m_ supposed _to be thinking?_

 

“Wand,” he said into Ginny’s mouth. 

 

“Hmm?” Ginny moaned, pulling away. 

 

“Wand.” 

 

“Wand?” 

 

“Wand.” 

 

“Wand.” 

 

It became like a chant, as both he and Ginny searched desperately around Harry’s messy bedroom, hoping they were within reach, as Harry wasn’t in any position to get up, and Ginny was in no position to let him move. They just pulled them out of their pockets thirty minutes ago ( _It was thirty seconds, you git_ , his rational mind said feebly), where were they? 

 

“ _Accio_ wand!” Harry called out, and as it flew to his hand he thanked whoever was up there that he had learned wandless magic. 

 

_What were the spells?_ Harry thought, trying to not look at Ginny, who was sitting straight up on top of him, her freckled breasts amazingly distracting in the light of the bedside lamp. 

 

“ _Chastitus_ ,” Ginny reminded him, her eyes begging him to just hurry the hell up. 

 

“Right,” Harry said, pointing the wand at her red thatch, repeating the spell. 

 

“ _Coitus Interruptus_ ,” she said, grabbing his wrist and pointing it to his own member. 

 

“ _Coitus Interruptus_ ,” he said, and felt a tingling sensation along its length. 

 

Ginny positioned herself over him. “Are you ready for this?” she asked. 

 

Harry nodded. Ginny closed her eyes. 

 

“Please don’t hurt much, please don’t hurt much,” she muttered under her breath, and slid herself down onto him. 

 

Harry moaned beneath her as he felt her wet warmth wrap around him. As soon as she slid down his length, though, Ginny cried out. He felt her nails bite into his chest, and she panted heavily above him, her hanging red hair concealing her face, her hips still. 

 

_Oh, no,_ Harry thought, sitting up. _She’s hurt._

 

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Did it hurt?” 

 

“No,” Ginny said, in a voice higher than normal. 

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

“I’m sure,” she replied in that still-too-high voice. 

 

“Because if you need to pull me out, I can…” 

 

“I just came.” 

 

Harry paused. “What?” 

 

A noise came from Ginny’s throat, and Harry couldn’t tell if she was laughing, crying, or just extremely frustrated.  “I just came,” she repeated. “I just orgasmed.” 

 

“You’re… you’re joking…” 

 

Ginny flopped down on top of him, and she was definitely laughing. “Oh, God,” she groaned. “Been looking forward to this for eight years. What a climax…” 

 

Harry started laughing, holding her to him. “And here I thought I was supposed to be one to last five seconds.” 

 

Ginny laughed harder. “You’re a fucking Viking, love.” 

 

That broke Harry up completely. He let loose gut-wrenching bellows, and Ginny tensed up in his arms despite her laughing with him. 

 

“Stop… stop laughing…” she said. 

 

“I’m not laughing at you,” Harry said. “I’m laughing with you.” 

 

“No,” Ginny said, pushing herself up to her hands, a smile still on her face. “I mean… uhhh… stop… laughing…” 

 

“Why?” 

 

“You’re… twitching… mmmm… and… aaahhh!!” 

 

She pulled herself up straight and cried out. This time Harry felt her muscles tighten around him as she arched, throwing her head back. 

 

“Two?” he asked. Ginny nodded, blushing, and Harry started laughing again. “Jesus, you really _were_ horny.” 

 

“Eight years,” Ginny growled. “Girl can build up a lot of want in eight years.” 

 

Harry continued to laugh. “I love you,” he said, reaching up to her caress her cheek. 

 

Ginny smiled down at him, bent down to kiss him passionately. “I love you,” she replied. “And what’s all this ‘were’ nonsense?” 

 

“What do you mean?” Harry said, then groaned as Ginny raised her hips before sinking back down onto him. 

 

“Eight years,” she repeated, her voice gasping as Harry slid in and out of her. “Do you actually think two was going to be enough?” 

 

The third and fourth took a little more effort. Both Harry and Ginny were both satisfied with the results. 

 

\---------

 

Hermione Granger was twenty years old. Older than any of her friends. She had been reading about this for years. She found calm solace in sex education textbooks, as much of relief in the rightness of truth and education as she found in her Charms textbook, or in _Hogwarts: A History_. 

 

She also found proper techniques, along with the inspiration for the occasional nocturnal fantasy when it was just herself, her hand, and a need to orgasm, in books borrowed from other girls at Hogwarts. Books in many different languages, with many full-motion illustrations. The kind of Kama Sutra-type texts that would guarantee Hermione, Lavender, and Parvati detentions for a week if Professor McGonagall had ever decided to perform a last-minute inspection of the girls’ dormitory. 

 

Hermione Granger had been completely prepared for this night. 

 

But that still didn’t stop her hands from shaking so badly that she couldn’t unbuckle Ron Weasley’s belt. 

 

It helped a little that, after she and Ron had made it to her bedroom, mattress and pillows still bare, sheets and pillow covers still in one of those boxes along the side of the wall ( _19G_ , her mind answered), she found Ron just as anxious as her. As they stood in the middle of the room, kissing each other, she felt his fingers trembling as he attempted to unbutton her shirt. 

 

After two or three minutes of him swearing under his breath, sweating fingertips slipping along the plastic buttons, her nervous arms too weak to tug the metal piece from the hole in the leather strap, she gave up, reached her hands to his, and took them. 

 

“Let me,” she said quietly. 

 

“Okay,” Ron nodded. “Do you want me to do mine?” 

 

“Please,” and she stepped back, watching his eyes stare unblinking at her as she undid the top button and worked her way down. 

 

She took her time; embarrassment and modesty seemed to overwhelm her. She had only been completely naked in front of Ron, completely naked in front of _anyone_ , once, and that was almost two years ago. Soon after the battle, on that rare night when she was at The Burrow and Harry wasn’t, she had surprised Ron (and surprised herself) by Apparating into his room. Finding him clad in only his boxers, she had pulled the long t-shirt that had been doubling as a nightgown over her head, removed her knickers, and climbed into bed with him. 

 

There had been a lot of firsts that night. A lot of onlys. Although they had seen flashes and parts of each other after that day, it was their first and only time nude. It was the first and only time she had taken him into her mouth. She still didn’t know if she enjoyed giving him oral stimulation, because he finished so quickly, squirting without warning down her throat after only seconds, that she hadn’t had time to fully appreciate it. 

 

It was also the first and only time that he had kissed her… well… down there. She had enjoyed that, and was pleased to know that he could bring her to orgasm, even though she took a lot more work than he did. 

 

She reached the last button and pulled her shirt open, watching Ron as he sat down on the bed and pulled his jeans from his ankles, being careful to set his wand on the side of the bed, near where they would probably lie. She unzipped her own jeans, pushed them down to her ankles, and stepped out of them. They had been finding comfort and companionship as much as anything that night. She hadn’t been nearly as nervous that first time as she was now, because all she had wanted was a warm body next to her. Now it felt more… real. They were making a huge step, a huge choice. Consummating their relationship. It scared the hell out of her to think that she might disappoint him. That she might be disappointed herself. 

 

Hermione sat down beside him on the bed, her in a plain white bra and knickers (all she owned was plain white. Functional. She wished that she had the courage to buy something more risqué), him in his white boxers, thin blue stripes running down the length. He leaned in to kiss her, and she responded, her lips numb with nerves, his breath short and shivering against her cheek. They pulled themselves closer to each other, and she could feel his body, thin and gangly, trembling against her, knowing that hers was doing the same against his. 

 

She felt his hand move behind her, fumbling for her snap. She saved him any additional irritation by reaching around to join him, her fingers fumbling herself as she felt her breasts sag in their release. She crossed her arms over her chest as soon as the brassiere left her arms. She knew she didn’t have a model’s body. A life of sitting in libraries, reading books, had left her, not necessarily fat, but at least soft, with a slight belly, legs and thighs that weren’t smooth or tight like Ginny’s or Fleur’s. And since puberty, she had come to dread the day when her awkward breasts, one slightly smaller than the other, would be revealed to whomever would be her first. She had tried her best to trim the patch of dark brown pubic hair, but it was her first time making any serious attempt, and she didn’t know if it was enough… 

 

She looked down at her feet, wondering if he was going to say anything; if he was going to laugh or get up and put his clothes back on. But he leaned over, pulled her arms gently to her sides, and kissed her between her breasts and she breathed easier. 

 

“I’m not too hideous?” Hermione asked, not able to stop the words. 

 

“Not too hideous at all,” Ron replied, pushing her back onto the bed. “You’re wonderful.” 

 

Hermione lay on her back, and lifted her hips as Ron removed her knickers. She reached down and pulled at his boxers, his cock poking out from a patch of pale red hair. She felt his hand between her legs, felt one of his fingers slide comfortably into her (she was wetter than she even realized), and she exhaled. 

 

As she reached for his erection, he pulled back. 

 

“I don’t know,” he said. “It won’t take me long. If we’re going to do anything else…” 

 

“Okay,” Hermione whispered, pulling her hand away. 

 

“You… you do want to do something else… right?” 

 

Hermione nodded. “If you want to.” 

 

“Now?” 

 

Hermione nodded again, her eyes locked on his. 

 

His hand pulled away from her clit, reached over to her other side, where his wand lay. He grasped it, looked at it and looked back at her. 

 

“Do you think you could…?” Ron asked. “I’m afraid I’m going to turn mine into an eggplant.” 

 

Despite the tenseness of the situation, Hermione giggled slightly at the image that had appeared in her mind. She rolled away from him, reached down to her jeans, and wrestled the wand from her pocket. 

 

For a moment, she was afraid that the birth control spells wouldn’t come to her. But, of course, they did, as her memorization skills almost never failed her. She pointed the tip of the wand between her legs and muttered an incantation. She then pointed it at him, said another and paused before saying a third, one that she had been taught, surprisingly enough, by Fleur Weasley one night when she and Bill had spent the afternoon at The Burrow two months ago. Of all of the women in Hermione’s life, Fleur was the only one who, unlike Ginny, was comfortable in talking graphic details about Ron and Hermione’s sex life (or promised sex life) while, unlike Luna, still having enough experience to give advice. 

 

“Eet ees a simple modifeecashun on ze _Eempervius_ spell,” she had whispered to Hermione as they sat in a secluded corner of the living room, away from the prying ears of Ron and, more importantly, Molly. “There are some nights when Bill ees not enough on his own, and needs zat leetle boost of, ah, endurance to get me over ze edge.” 

 

“Was it supposed to tingle like that?” Ron asked now. 

 

“I think so,” said Hermione. “It will help. I promise.” 

 

Ron nodded and gulped. “Are you ready?” 

 

Hermione nodded, and he climbed on top of her. 

 

“Be careful,” she whispered as he tried to adjust himself to get a proper entry. “It’s supposed to hurt the first time.” 

 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Ron said, and she could feel his arms shaking as they held him up over her.

 

“It’s only for the first time,” she said, kissing him. “Just… go easy, okay?” 

 

Ron nodded. Hermione reached down and took him in her hands. She adjusted him until he was right where he needed to be, and a gasp escaped her lips as, probably despite himself, he pushed in about an inch. 

 

“Am I in the right place?” 

 

“Go slow,” said Hermione, resting her hand on the small of his back. “Please.” 

 

Ron carefully, lovingly, slid himself into her. And it did hurt. It hurt a lot. More than she had expected, although she, quite frankly, didn’t know what to expect. One hand tightened on the back of his neck, the other curled into a fist against his back. She cried out in pain, and wondered if there would be blood if she looked down. 

 

“Oh, God, I’m sorry!” Ron cried, looking anxious. “I didn’t mean to…” 

 

“It’s okay,” Hermione breathed, her teeth gritted. “I’m fine. It’s… it’s already better. Just stay for a minute. Don’t leave.” 

 

“Okay,” said Ron, kissing her. “Just tell me when, okay? Your pace.” 

 

“Right,” Hermione said, nodding. “My pace… alright…” 

 

“I love you…” 

 

“I love you,” she whispered while she squeezed her muscles around him, testing. It felt better already,,wonderful, actually. “Go ahead. But… slow.” 

 

And he did. Moved out. And in. Slow. And it felt… 

 

“I love you,” she whispered again, and wrapped her arms around him, wrapped her legs around him, and felt him love her back. 

 

\---------

 

“Thanks for the housewarming present,” Ginny Weasley said as she lay atop Harry Potter, their hands entwined on his chest. 

 

“I like how you celebrate your first night in your new place by not being there,” Harry smirked. 

 

“I don’t hear you complaining,” Ginny said, kissing his chin. 

 

“Not at all,” Harry said, running his hand along her back. 

 

“Besides,” Ginny continued after a moment’s pause. “It’s not really my place. It’s theirs. I’m just a temporary placeholder. They needed tonight.” 

 

“Yeah, I suppose that’s right.” 

 

“This is my place,” Ginny said, her voice fading. “Right here, with you. I just won’t be done moving in for a few more years.” 

 

Harry nodded as Ginny began to snore quietly. He looked down at their hands, at Ginny’s engagement ring (peridot, her birthstone, and she always said it matches his eyes), and his mind drifted to the still-formless moment one year, two years in the future when it really _would_ be theirs. 

 

_This is her place,_ he thought as he fell asleep. _Our place._

 

\---------

 

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger lay side-by-side in each other’s arms. Ron felt the urge to start asking a lot of questions, to reassure himself that he had made her happy. Hermione felt the urge to roll over and grab a shirt, as her modesty felt like it was starting to kick in again. 

 

In the end, they were both content to hold each other in silence, with Hermione’s cheek against Ron’s chest, Ron’s fingers running through her sweaty hair. 

 

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered eventually. 

 

“Hmm?” Ron replied, realizing that he was moments away from falling asleep. 

 

“Thank you for the perfect night,” she said. 

 

Ron snorted. “Well, I was probably far from perfect, but… you’re welcome.” 

 

“You were perfect for tonight,” said Hermione, kissing his chest. “We’ll have other nights. Other kinds of perfect.”

 

“Yeah,” Ron said, hugging her close. “First of many.” 

 

They continued to lay in silence. 

 

“Did you, um,” Ron couldn’t help but ask. “Did you have one?” 

 

Hermione smiled and then nodded. “First of many,” she said. 

 

Ron felt a lot better. 

 

“Thank you for loving me,” Hermione breathed, on the edge of sleep. 

 

“I couldn’t love anyone else.” 

 

Hermione mumbled something quietly ( _I love you more,_ it sounded like), and Ron heard her breathing flatten as she nodded off beside him. He smiled, shifted himself on the still-undressed mattress, and faded into a contented slumber, his love in his arms.

 


	10. Two Years Later: Dinner Date

  
  
After the door swung open, it took Hermione Granger a few moments to realize why there was no one standing behind it.

  
  
 

  
  
“Good evening, Miss Granger,” came a croaking voice from her feet.

  
  
 

  
  
“Kreacher!” said Hermione, looking down to see the ancient-looking house-elf bent low before her, long nose and thick white ear hair almost touching the ground.

  
  
 

  
  
“Please, come in,” he said.

  
  
 

  
  
“What are you doing here?” Hermione said, her brow furrowed in concern. “Harry didn’t…”

  
  
 

  
  
“Kreacher is preparing your meal, Miss,” Kreacher said as she stepped into number twelve Grimmauld Place, closing the door behind them.

  
  
 

  
  
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Hermione mumbled, her rage building quickly as she stormed down the hallway. “Harry!”

  
  
 

  
  
“In the kitchen, Hermione!” Harry called back. Hermione paused as she walked into the room, not expecting what she was seeing. Harry was standing at the kitchen counter, stirring a bowl of something.

  
  
 

  
  
“Are you wearing an apron?” she asked, aghast, staring at his chest.

  
  
 

  
  
Harry shrugged. “Thought I’d get into the act.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Harry,” Hermione began as she grabbed Harry Potter’s arm and pulled him away from Kreacher as the elf rushed back into the kitchen. “What’s he doing here?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Who, Kreacher?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Yes, Kreacher!” Hermione said under her breath. “Isn’t his work day supposed to be over already?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Yes, it is.”

  
  
 

  
  
“And you’re paying him overtime, right?”

  
  
 

  
  
“No, I’m not.”

  
  
 

  
  
Hermione grunted in frustration, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “Harry, you have to…”

  
  
 

  
  
“Master Potter!” Kreacher yelled from behind him. “The pasta’s boiling over!”

  
  
 

  
  
“Oh, shit,” Harry said, running past Kreacher, who Hermione noticed was staring at the stove, his face red with exertion but otherwise making no move to remove the overflowing pot from the stovetop.

  
  
 

  
  
“Sssss, that’s hot,” Harry hissed as he moved the pot to an unused burner.

  
  
 

  
  
“Harry,” Hermione continued unabated, “You can’t keep expecting Kreacher to be at your beck and call twenty-four seven. He’s a house-elf, and he deserves a fair day’s work, with a fair day’s pay, and nothing more. He should be allowed to think and decide for himself, and not be serving you hand over foot.”

  
  
 

  
  
“He’s not,” said Harry, returning to the bowl and pouring in some cream from a glass bottle. “That enough, Kreacher?”

  
  
 

  
  
 “Recipe calls for seven hundred fifty milliliters, Master Harry,” said Kreacher. “That was only six hundred thirty-two.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Oh…”

  
  
 

  
  
Kreacher sighed and pointed at bowl. The level of liquid in the bottle lowered slightly, as the concoction in the bowl grew slightly fuller.

  
  
 

  
  
“Thanks,” Harry said, stirring away.

  
  
 

  
  
“If Master wishes to be his own servant, Kreacher thinks Master should at least buy a fucking kitchen scale.”

  
  
 

  
  
“See?” Harry said to Hermione. “He’s swearing at me and not slamming his fingers in the cupboard door. I think he’s growing.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Harry…”

  
  
 

  
  
“Look, Hermione, I get it,” Harry said, walking back to her. “He’s here by his own choice, I promise.”

  
  
 

  
  
“You’re sure?” Hermione asked with a skeptical eyebrow.

  
  
 

  
  
“I’m not a Malfoy, and I’m not a Crouch,” Harry said slowly. “I did just like you suggested. He didn’t want to be free. He didn’t want to be paid, or to have work limited hours. So I ordered him to work here for eight hours a day, five days a week. I ordered him to stay at Hogwarts when he wasn’t working here, and ordered him to go anywhere else he pleased if he wanted to during those times. And I ordered him to make himself any meals he desired while he was here,” for this Harry leaned in, “so he’s working for board, which comes out of my pocket, so it’s kind of like paying him. I couldn’t do any better than that, and you know it.” 

  
  
 

  
  
“So what’s he doing here now?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Kreacher was told that Master Harry was having guests tonight,” Kreacher said, apparently overhearing all. “Kreacher did not wish to disgrace his house by serving bad food, so Kreacher asked to stay.”

  
  
 

  
  
“I couldn’t talk him out of it,” said Harry. “So I negotiated with him. He’d tell me how to make some good stroganoff, and I’d make it.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Master Harry told Kreacher that some wizards enjoy making meals for their friends,” said Kreacher, somewhat dejected. “Kreacher does not understand, as his Mistress Black never touched her oven.”

  
  
 

  
  
Hermione looked back and forth between Harry and Kreacher, ready to continue the argument. In the end, she shook her head. “I’m not going to get my way here, am I?”

  
  
 

  
  
“No, you’re not,” said Harry. “Sorry about that.”

  
  
 

  
  
Hermione sighed. “Can I help with anything?”

  
  
 

  
  
“No, because you’re my guest,” Harry said. “Grab some wine. Make yourself comfortable. Say hi to Luna.”

  
  
 

  
  
Hermione turned around, and was surprised to see Luna Lovegood sitting at the kitchen table. She had a glass of red wine next to her, along with the nearly-full bottle, and appeared to be quietly listening to their entire conversation.

  
  
 

  
  
“Hello,” she said to Hermione.

  
  
 

  
  
“Hello, Luna,” said Hermione, walking over to the table. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  
  
 

  
  
“I know,” Luna said. “You were too busy yelling at Harry. I understand.”

  
  
 

  
  
Hermione reddened slightly. “I wasn’t yelling at him.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Yes, you were.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Yes, I was,” Hermione admitted.

  
  
 

  
  
“Kreacher is having a difficult time with it,” said Luna as Harry poured the mixture into a second pot. “He wishes that he could be more useful. He keeps giving Harry angry looks.”

  
  
 

  
  
“If I felt like I’d been forced to work overtime for no extra pay, I’d be angry, too,” Hermione grumbled.

  
  
 

  
  
“Kreacher doesn’t believe overtime exists,” said Luna. “He believes that Harry is infringing on his territory. It makes him uncomfortable.”

  
  
 

  
  
“He’s uncomfortable because Harry’s not asking him to do everything?” Hermione said, pouring a glass of wine from the bottle. “God, we have to do something about that mindset. House-elves shouldn’t have to think that way.”

  
  
 

  
  
“He doesn’t understand that Harry has lived most of his life alone,” said Luna. “That he prefers to be independent, to do his own work, to have no one in his house but Ron, Ginny, or yourself when he falls asleep. He wishes that he could free Kreacher, but knows that Kreacher would not like that. So they try. They come from two different worlds. But I can see that they’re starting to come together.”

  
  
 

  
  
Hermione, relenting, took a sip of wine. “So you’ve been watching them a while, have you?”

  
  
 

  
  
Luna shrugged. “I have been here for an hour, since Harry and I do not have jobs. You can learn a lot about people in an hour.”

  
  
 

  
  
Hermione shook her head.  _The Unemployed Ones,_ she thought as she looked between Luna and Harry. Well, technically not. Luna did have some work, as a freelance writer for her father’s newspaper. One or two of her articles, which she had written on their tour and which contained information that wasn’t _too_ far-fetched, had actually made it into the interior pages of the _Prophet’s_ travel section. She still didn’t have full-time employment, but the commissions for publication were decent enough. And Luna had once briefly mentioned writing a full book on their travels, and was gauging interest from Xeno’s publishing sources.

  
  
 

  
  
Hermione only hoped that Luna stuck to information about their destinations, and didn’t delve into Rita Skeeter tabloid territory. Some of the more disreputable publishers might press for a chapter or two on The Chosen One’s exploits with Ginny, or for any juicy bits of drama amongst his friends (Ron and Hermione were both shocked to see the publicity they received soon after The Battle of Hogwarts, along with fan mail that came with it, but tired of the exposure quickly). She didn’t think Luna would ever stoop to that level, but Hermione also knew that the media could be very tricky when it came to getting the story they wanted.

  
  
 

  
  
So Luna at least had some source of income. Harry, on the other hand…

  
  
 

  
  
“How was work, Hermione?” Harry asked as he stirred a pot on the stove.

  
  
 

  
  
“Same as it ever was,” Hermione sighed. “This whole entry-level, foot in the door thing’s getting fairly tedious.”

  
  
 

  
  
“You’re an advisor to the Minister of Magic,” said Harry. “I wouldn’t exactly call that ‘entry level.’”

  
  
 

  
  
“But it feels like it, though,” said Hermione. “ _Advisor_ means that he’ll ask my opinion, along with the opinions of, oh, a dozen, two dozen other people, any of whom he may or may not decide to listen to. There’s no real power to it. It’s just talking to Kingsley occasionally, and a lot of paperwork from Percy for the other eight hours. It’s still the same bureaucracy, still the same hogwash that it’s always been.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Weren’t you the one telling me that things have changed, that things are getting better in the Ministry with Kingsley in charge?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Yes, I did,” Hermione admitted. “But only so much. I mean, Kingsley’s an Auror. A great Auror, and a great man, but still just an Auror. He’s trained in criminal apprehension, not politics. He runs things extremely by the book, I knew that when I saw him dealing with my parents in Australia. He doesn’t trust his gut instincts, so he relies on the decisions of past Ministers when he’s in a jam, as well as whoever is still working there from previous administrations.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Things will get better, though.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Of course they will,” Hermione said, pouring another glass. “But, in the meantime… I just wish I could make a difference, you know? Do something important.”

  
  
 

  
  
“And you will,” said Harry, sitting down beside her and putting a hand on her knee. “You’ve got one hell of a brain in that head, you’ll do great things someday. But, Hermione, you’ve only been out of school for a year. You’ve only been working at the Ministry since, what, February? You can’t expect to change the world in four months.”

  
  
 

  
  
“I know that,” said Hermione. “But… it’s just frustrating to feel powerless again, I guess.”

  
  
 

  
  
“You three have done more in your first twenty years than most have done in three lifetimes,” said Luna. “The world does not turn at the pace that you are used to. But don't worry. I think you could make an adequate Minister of Magic someday, Hermione.”

  
  
 

  
  
Hermione stared at Luna for a few moments, then started to laugh. “Not many people would try to comfort someone by calling them ‘adequate,’ either.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Well, you could make an adequate Minister,” Luna insisted. “Or you could make a good one, or a great one. You just have to learn a few things first. Begin to see other perspectives besides your own. Once you learn that there are better ways than yours, then you can begin to become great.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Wow,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “Just when I think she couldn’t get any more blunt...”

  
  
 

  
  
“You’re welcome.”

  
  
 

  
  
Harry laughed, shook his head, and went back to their dinner.

  
  
 

  
  
“I don’t know if I could be Minister, anyway,” said Hermione. “Too much paperwork. Gets in the way of what’s important. I’d rather work somewhere with a little more focus.”

  
  
 

  
  
Before the conversation could advance any further, a huge fire erupted from the hearth in the corner, and three people stepped out of the flames.

  
  
 

  
  
“Be careful of the ashes!” Kreacher yelled, running forward. “Kreacher just cleaned this morning!”

  
  
 

  
  
“Ah, damn,” Ron Weasley said, carefully removing his shoes as Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom removed theirs behind him. “Sorry about that, Kreach.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Didn’t expect to see all three of you at once,” said Hermione.

  
  
 

  
  
“Zonko’s had a special order,” explained Ginny. “George sent me, Ron, and Lee to make the shipment at the end of the day...”

  
  
 

  
  
“He probably just wanted some alone time with Verity,” Ron interjected. “Business doesn’t pick up until Hogwarts gets out, so we were pretty much it by four.”

  
  
 

  
  
“…So, since we were in Neville’s neighborhood, thought it might be easier just to Floo from his place.”

  
  
 

  
  
“They actually used my shower before we left,” said Neville. “They smelled a bit.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Zonko’s bought a huge order of the new Skiving Snack Boxes,” Ginny explained as Ron sat down with Hermione and Luna. “Diarrhea de Menthe.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Ew…” Harry and Hermione said at once.

  
  
 

  
  
“Yes,” Ginny continued, “And George decided to try some Scratch and Sniff packaging, and it got all over our hands, and God, it’s been a long day, and baby needs some sugar.”

  
  
 

  
  
Harry stared at Ginny for a few moments. “Did you just say what I think you said?”

  
  
 

  
  
Ginny’s nose wrinkled. “I did, didn’t I?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Yeah, you did.”

  
  
 

  
  
Ginny shook her head. “I blame… Merlin, I don’t know what. Could you just kiss me and we can never speak of it again?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Gladly,” Harry said, and Ginny walked up and kissed him on the lips.

  
  
 

  
  
“Two more weeks,” he said to her after they released. “Then you won’t have to worry about any more poop-smelling hands.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Well, first off, I’m not going to stop helping George,” said Ginny. “Second, no one says I’m making the team.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Of course you will, because you’re fantastic.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Kiss up,” Ginny said, kissing up again.

  
  
 

  
  
“I could use one of those,” Hermione said slyly to Ron.

  
  
 

  
  
“Mmmmm,” Ginny said, her arms still around Harry. “You’ll have to ask my boyfriend, I don’t know if he wants to share me.”

  
  
 

  
  
“But I don’t have my camera with me...”

  
  
 

  
  
“Funny,” Ron sneered at Ginny and Harry. “You’re very funny. Both of you.” He pulled Hermione in for a kiss. “Hi, love.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Hi.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Long day at work?”

  
  
 

  
  
“When isn’t it?”

  
  
 

  
  
Neville looked down at Luna, who stared back up at him. A nervous smile crossed his face as their friends continued to flirt around each other.

  
  
 

  
  
“Hi,” he said.

  
  
 

  
  
“Hello, Neville,” Luna replied. Their eyes remained locked for a few uncomfortable moments before Neville looked away, his face turning red.

  
  
 

  
  
“So…” he said loudly, clearing his throat, “Dinner almost ready?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Pretty much, yeah,” said Harry, pulling himself away from Ginny to pour the pasta into the colander in the sink. “Ron, grab some plates, would you?” Ginny sat down with Neville and Hermione.

  
  
 

  
  
“I love my domestic goddess,” she said to Hermione with a small smirk as Harry gave her a look.

  
  
 

  
  
\---------

  
  
 

  
  
The next ten minutes or so were passed in the type of silence that can only be found at a table full of six hungry people: not at all uncomfortable, just filled with clinking silverware, chewing teeth, and the occasional moan in finding a particularly good bite.

  
  
 

  
  
“This recipe’s really good,” said Neville eventually. “My Gran would love it.”

  
  
 

  
  
“I don’t know if I’m allowed to give it out,” said Harry, taking a sip of wine. “It’s Kreacher’s.”

  
  
 

  
  
“It’s not Kreacher’s, Master,” said the house elf from the corner. “Kreacher doesn’t skimp on the salt. Tastes better than this one, Kreacher’s recipe wouldn’t disgrace his house.”

  
  
 

  
  
“It’s not a disgrace, Kreacher,” said Luna. “It is quite tasty. But I am sure yours is even better.”

  
  
 

  
  
Hermione looked toward Kreacher, who was sitting in the corner of the kitchen, on the floor, knees pulled up to his chin, and had seemed to be lifted by Luna’s words. “Would you like to sit with us, Kreacher?” she asked.

  
  
 

  
  
“No thank you, Mistress,” he replied. “Kreacher is simply waiting for you to finish eating so he can begin to do the dishes.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Oh, no, we can’t have that,” said Hermione. “Please, come join us.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Yeah, Kreach, pull up a chair,” said Ron. “Enjoy some disgrace with the rest of us blood traitors,” which earned him a glare from Hermione.

  
  
 

  
  
Kreacher turned to Harry, his face blank. “Master?”

  
  
 

  
  
“You’re welcome to have a plate and join us, Kreacher, you know that,” Harry shrugged.

  
  
 

  
  
“Thank you, Master,” Kreacher said, walking over to the stove to put some pasta and sauce on a plate. From the tone of his voice, Hermione couldn’t tell if he was being honest in his thanks or simply following orders, but decided to leave it be.

  
  
 

  
  
“So how are the wedding plans coming?” Neville asked as Kreacher sat down on a spare chair. Hermione noticed that the short elf, who would normally be having difficulty seeing over the top, was having no trouble at all, until she discovered that he was floating, his legs crossed, a foot above the chair.

  
  
 

_  
  
If elves wanted to revolt, they could without any difficulty, with the power that they possess,_  
  
she thought.  _But do they want to?_ Hermione didn’t like that line of thought, and decided that now wasn’t the time to pursue it.

  
  
 

  
  
“We’re still debating specific dates,” said Ron. “Sometime next summer.”

  
  
 

  
  
“You, too?” Neville asked Harry and Ginny.

  
  
 

  
  
“Yeah,” Harry replied. “Actually, we’re trying to coordinate things a bit. Since our guest lists are going to be matching up so much, we’re going to try to do them within a week of each other. That way, anyone who needs to come in from a long way can just stay the week if they don’t want to travel back and forth.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Plus we’re all going to be at the Burrow,” Ginny continued. “So we’re thinking it might be easier to have whoever goes the first week have their tents and whatever set up, then just leave them there all week. Might even have a little campground for some people who can’t afford to stay in town. Might give Mum a little less of a meltdown than if she had to worry about weddings two or three months apart.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Sounds like a lot of work,” said Neville. “I forgot that your lists would be so similar.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Pretty much,” said Ron. “Ginny and I have the same fam, so that’s easy. And we all share most of the same friends from Hogwarts. Only differences are that Hermione and I would have a small contingent of Grangers, and Harry and Ginny would have a couple more students from Ginny’s year and from the version of the D.A. that you three put together. Otherwise, we could swap our guest lists and share ninety percent, easy.”

  
  
 

  
  
“More than that,” said Ginny quietly. “I’m not sure if a lot of the D.A. is going to be ready to come back, not since the battle. I mean, you all heard about Dennis, right?”

  
  
 

  
  
“What about him?” Harry asked, surprised that he hadn’t been told anything by his fiancée about the youngest Creevey.

  
  
 

  
  
“Well, it’s pretty much a rumor going around, since no one’s heard from him,” she said to everyone. “But they say he’s gone Muggle.”

  
  
 

  
  
Neville gasped. “You’re kidding.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Oh, Merlin,” Ron said, dropping his fork.

  
  
 

  
  
Hermione, on the other hand, merely nodded. “I could see it. After what happened to his brother, I mean.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Wait, I’m lost,” Harry said. “What do you mean, ‘gone Muggle’?”

  
  
 

  
  
“’Gone Muggle’ means that Dennis has abandoned the wizard world,” explained Luna. “Broken his own wand and given up the magic lifestyle, gone off to live with Muggles for the rest of his life.”

  
  
 

  
  
“I tried writing him after the funerals,” said Ginny. “Tried a few times over the past two years. But Errol and Artemisia kept flying back after a day or two with the letter still attached. Now Artie won’t even leave for him. Almost like she knows that Dennis doesn’t want to be contacted, or that he’s somewhere where he can’t have magical contact, like a Muggle school.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Maybe… do you think his parents are keeping him from Hogwarts?” Harry asked, but part of him didn’t believe that to be the case. Dennis Creevey had shared an almost reverential love of magic with his brother, Colin, when he first came to Hogwarts in Harry’s fourth year.   To know that that same magic was what killed his strongest bond to the wizarding world… Harry didn’t know if he could blame the boy for not finding the trust in magic that he used to have.

  
  
 

  
  
“It might be,” Ginny admitted. “But he’s sixteen, which means he comes of age in the next year. If his parents are the ones making this decision for him right now, he’ll be able to make that choice himself soon enough.”

  
  
 

  
  
“In the meantime, he should be safe,” said Hermione. “The Ministry has him registered as a magical being, even if he is wandless and not using any spells. Statute of Secrecy requires it in case he starts to reveal any information to people he’s not supposed to talk to. Plus, since he’s still underage, he still has the Trace.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Damn,” Ron said, staring dumbly at his plate. “Poor Dennis. I don’t think I could ever abandon magic…”

  
  
 

  
  
The six sat in a depressed silence for a few minutes, lost in their thoughts as they slowly went back to picking at their food. Eventually, Neville was the one to break it again. He cleared his throat and took a sip of wine.

  
  
 

  
  
“So, um,” he stumbled, realizing that he was suddenly the tension-breaker, “How does it work, anyway, Hermione? With your family?”

  
  
 

  
  
“What do you mean?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Well, your parents know that you’re a witch,” Neville explained. “And your sister will obviously know that you’re one once she’s old enough to figure out the difference. But how about the rest of your family? How many of them know about you? Can they go to the Burrow? Or are you going to have to have a Muggle wedding somewhere else in Devon, with Ron’s family and the rest of us pretending to be powerless?”

  
  
 

  
  
Hermione took another bite while she thought of a proper answer. “I don’t know,” she said eventually, noticeably disappointed with herself for her lack of information. “The Statute is pretty vague for a law written centuries ago. It’s been interpreted so many ways, I don’t think anyone knows what’s right. One group could argue that any Muggle can know you’re a witch as long as you don’t use magic on them for personal gain. Another group could argue just as fervently that a wizard who marries a Muggle is in violation of the Statute. Or that any witch or wizard born to a Muggle family has to disappear as soon as they’re discovered.”

  
  
 

  
  
“What happened with Andromeda and Ted?” asked Ginny. “How did their marriage go?”

  
  
 

  
  
“The woman who went by the name of Black had a Muggle wedding,” said Kreacher. “My Mistress would not allow herself or anyone in her family to attend.”

  
  
 

  
  
“You can call her by her real name, you know,” said Ron. “Just because your former owner shunned her from the family doesn’t mean that she wasn’t blood.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Bet you Sirius was there, though,” said Harry with a smirk. “At the wedding.”

  
  
 

  
  
“No,” said Kreacher with a snarl that reminded Harry that he and Sirius had always hated each other, “ _Sirius_ was not there. He was only twelve when…  _Andromeda_ was married. He was still a member of the Black family at that time.”

  
  
 

  
  
“What about your parents, Harry?” asked Luna. “Has your aunt told you anything about their wedding?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Aunt Petunia?” Harry snorted. “I know my grandparents were there, but if anyone else in my mother’s family were at the church, if anyone other than her parents knew that she was a witch, my aunt’s probably blocked it from her mind. Hagrid was the one to tell me the truth about them, and Aunt Petunia wasn’t any more receptive to the concept after he gave Dudley a tail.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Well, you should ask,” said Luna. “Both of you,” she added to Hermione. “Petunia might be in a more hospitable mood now that you’ve saved her family’s life. She might be willing to talk about Lily’s family, especially with someone who was Muggle-born like Lily was.”

  
  
 

  
  
Hermione and Harry exchanged an awkward glance. “Yeah,” Harry said. “Yeah, I suppose it might not hurt, but…”

  
  
 

  
  
“Do you even know where they are?” asked Hermione.

  
  
 

  
  
“They might be back at Privet Drive, but I never asked,” admitted Harry with a shameful shrug. “Hestia and Dedalus will know, but I figured the Dursleys wanted me out of their life, and I’ve been more than happy to oblige.”

  
  
 

  
  
“So they’re not being invited to the wedding?” asked Neville.

  
  
 

  
  
“I don’t know,” said Harry. “I should probably send them an invitation, just to be polite. I’d be amazed if they showed.”

  
  
 

  
  
“I wouldn’t be surprised either way, to be honest,” said Ginny. “After what you told me about your cousin, how he acted before they left, it sounds like at least one of them’s starting to turn towards the light.”

  
  
 

  
  
“I… I guess…” Harry thought, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the thoughts going through his head. He had always hated the Dursleys. Up until the minute they left their house on Privet Drive, Harry was glad to be finally rid of them, and always assumed that they felt the feeling was mutual.

  
  
 

  
  
But that last time together…

  
  
 

_  
  
Why isn’t he coming with us?_   
  


  
  
 

_  
  
I don’t think you’re a waste of space._   
  


  
  
 

_  
  
You saved my life._   
  


  
  
 

  
  
He knew that Uncle Vernon would be doing handstands if Harry died tomorrow. But Dudley had actually been a decent sort when it came down to it…

  
  
 

_  
  
See ya, Harry._   
  


  
  
 

_  
  
Take care, Big D._   
  


  
  
 

  
  
Merlin, had Harry actually called Dudley ‘Big D’? And meant it as a compliment?

  
  
 

  
  
And Petunia… Now that Harry knew her history with magic, her history with Snape and his mother… how her attitude had come as much from jealousy and protection of her sister as it did from hatred and fear…

  
  
 

  
  
She was going to say something to him before she left, but thought the better of it, perhaps because of Vernon’s overbearing presence… how did she feel now?

  
  
 

_  
  
Wow,_  
  
Harry thought, completely astonished by the thought, _Am I actually_ missing _the self-righteous morons?_

  
  
 

  
  
“Might be worth a shot,” he mumbled to the group, his brow furrowed in confusion.

  
  
 

  
  
“Find out when they’re available next summer,” said Ron, grabbing a second plate as though the synapses weren’t firing in Harry’s brain. “That way it’ll be easier to decide who gets to get married when.”

  
  
 

  
  
“You still haven’t decided which one’s going first?” asked Neville.

  
  
 

  
  
“Well, no,” said Ron. “I mean, Harry and Ginny started dating a year before we did. But I’ve known Hermione longer. And I proposed first…”

  
  
 

  
  
“I met Harry before you met Hermione!” Ginny interjected. “Hell, he knew my name before he knew _yours_!”

  
  
 

  
  
“Yeah, but you were ten, and it was only for, what, five seconds?”

  
  
 

  
  
“I fell in love with him in those five seconds, what’s your point?” Ginny argued, sticking her tongue out.

  
  
 

  
  
“Yeah…well…” Ron stammered. “We’re older than both of you, so there!”

  
  
 

  
  
“What are you, twelve?” Hermione said to Ron and Ginny. “I didn’t realize our weddings were going to be one big competition!”

  
  
 

  
  
“Of course they are,” said Ron. “Because ours is going to be better, obviously.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Says you…!” Ginny said, flicking a gray-sauced noodle across the table at her brother.

  
  
 

  
  
“Thank you for giving Kreacher more to clean later, Mistress Ginevra,” Kreacher sighed.

  
  
 

  
  
“Any wagers on when they start pulling out the ‘your mother’ jokes?” asked Harry, causing Neville to snort laughter in his wineglass.

  
  
 

  
  
“We’re joining this family, aren’t we?” Hermione asked Harry sadly.

  
  
 

  
  
“We are,” he replied. “But at least I’m not taking their name.”

  
  
 

  
  
“I’m having second thoughts about that part…”

  
  
 

  
  
“Haven’t you talked about having just one ceremony together?”

  
  
 

  
  
The bickering stopped as soon as Luna asked the question. The four of them stared at her blankly, unable to find a response.

  
  
 

  
  
“It would give the Weasleys some relief,” Luna explained, “Because they would only have to prepare one meal, and wouldn’t have to deal with guests for a week. Plus you would have more guests, since not everyone is able to set aside two weekends in a summer. One couple wouldn’t have to hold off on their honeymoon while waiting for the other wedding. And you also wouldn’t have this competition that Hermione seems to be so displeased about.”

  
  
 

  
  
“But that’s half the fun,” Ron said weakly before getting elbowed by Hermione.

  
  
 

  
  
“Besides, you three, you four, have always been so close,” Luna continued. “I would think it would be a natural choice.”

  
  
 

  
  
Harry looked around the table at the other three. “I guess I’ve thought about it, yeah,” he said. “But I didn’t think anyone else would want to…”

  
  
 

  
  
“It might be fun,” said Hermione carefully. “I mean, if you all want to… it would be nice to have the four of us together.”

  
  
 

  
  
“It would give Mum a break,” Ginny admitted. “Especially with Percy and Penelope looking like they’re looking, and who knows what’s up with George and Verity. We probably won’t be the last wedding in the next few years.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Ron?” Harry asked, and Ron just shrugged.

  
  
 

  
  
“Wedding’s a wedding,” he said. “Whether it’s two of us or four of us. I can go either way, just so long as the food’s good, the people are happy, and the honeymoon’s on our lonesome.”

  
  
 

  
  
“We’ll talk about it. Weigh our options,” Ginny said, taking one last glance around the table to see the other three nodding agreement. “Thank you, Luna.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Glad to help,” she replied, wiping her plate with a piece of bread.

  
  
 

  
  
“It’ll mean we’ll have to recalculate the whole ‘best man’ situation, eh?” Ron said to Harry, who nodded.

  
  
 

  
  
“Shouldn’t be that difficult,” he said before looking around at the now-empty plates and standing. “So, who’s up for dessert?”

  
  
 


	11. Thirty Months Later: Thestral

  
Author's notes: I loved the concept of the baby Thestrals from the OotP movie so much that I just had to go with them here. This is the last chapter before the wedding, so everyone can stop holding their breath.  


* * *

Thirty Months Later

Thestral 

 

As he trudged through the knee-deep snow with a bag of dead squirrels slung over his shoulder, Harry Potter once again reflected that his life was by no means normal.

The fact that he was trudging through knee-deep snow with a bag of dead squirrels slung over his shoulder, following a man twice his size, with a dead cow slung over his own back, into a dark, spooky forest filled with giant, angry centaurs and even bigger, even angrier spiders, did not dissolve this opinion in the least.

Still, even though all of this was occurring in that festive week between Christmas and New Years, Harry wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You really don’ have to do this, Harry,” growled Rubeus Hagrid as the two men passed through thin row of trees that marked the edge of the Forbidden Forest. “I’m perfec’ly capable of handlin’ this myself.”

“I know,” said Harry, noticing the snow getting thinner around his feet as the canopy overhead grew thicker, blocking out more and more of the bright December sun. “I just wanted to spend some time with you. I haven’t seen them in a while, either.”

“Don’ think I don’t appreciate it,” said Hagrid. “I jus’ thought you’d rather be somewhere else.”

“I figured I’d have to come back in here eventually,” Harry said quietly. “Face some old thoughts.” He knew that the location of the Resurrection Stone would be further into the forest, as he remembered walking a good distance in before finding Yaxley and Dolohov that night two-and-a-half-years ago. He had barely had time to see the spot where he met Voldemort, where he thought he was meeting his fate, but it was emblazoned in his memory enough where he knew that he and Hagrid were still a good ways away.

However, this still didn’t stop him from occasionally glancing down at the forest floor, wondering if he would pick up a glint of yellow metal, either from ring itself, or from the Golden Snitch in which it had once been encased, waiting only for Harry’s words to open it wide.

_Why did I leave it out here?_ Harry thought. _Someone will find it eventually. I should have placed it somewhere safer. Like Dumbledore’s tomb, or in my vault at Gringotts._

He knew that that was a stupid thought. Dumbledore’s tomb could be penetrated again, and the theft of two of the Deathly Hallows would be even worse than the theft of the Elder Wand alone.

As for his vault… well, beyond the fact that he might not trust himself to not use the wand, Harry wasn’t so sure that Gringotts was the safest place to store anything anymore. Although they had saved the magical world, Harry recognized that he, Ron, and Hermione were still receiving cold looks from the goblins of Gringotts in their ensuing trips to the vaults. Successfully breaking into the bank, even with a goblin’s assistance, and stealing a valuable goblet, along with the dragon that came with it, would probably leave them as unwelcome guests for a long time to come.

_I should really ask someone if Gringotts is the only bank in England,_ Harry thought. _Might be worth my while to transfer my inheritance somewhere a little more hospitable._

“I din’ mean that,” said Hagrid, and Harry could tell from his voice that he wanted to think about the night that Voldemort had been in this forest even less than Harry did. “I jus’ meant… shouldn’ you be with the Weasleys? It _is_ Christmas, after all, figured you’d wanna spend it with your ber-trothed.”

Harry shrugged as they reached the clearing and Hagrid flopped the dead steer into the dirt. “I’ve spent time with them,” he said. “And I will spend more time. But everyone’s busy today, and I haven’t been out here in a long time. So I thought I’d come visit.”

“Busy, eh?”

“With work, yeah,” said Harry, plopping the bleeding bag onto the ground. “Ginny has the week off from Quidditch practice, but with all of the kids spending their Christmas money at the Wheezes, George needed as many Weasleys as he could get a hold of. Even Molly’s doing her part to keep the shop under control. And it will probably be a good while before the Ministry gives their employees this week off, not until everything’s cleaned up and straightened out. So Hermione’s busy…

“Besides,” he said as he watched shadowy figures emerge from the trees, “I honestly don’t think any of them are prepared for this part yet.”

The Thestrals stepped forward, four of them, and sniffed at the carcass with their long, skeletal snouts. As they began taking their first hesitant bites, Harry and Hagrid exchanged a sad look. Hagrid knew as well as Harry that Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had yet to see one of the winged creatures in person. They had, in fact, gone out of their way to avoid them during their last year at Hogwarts. When the four of them visited Hagrid’s hut during their downtime, Hermione and the two Weasleys would find something else that needed doing elsewhere in the castle whenever Hagrid requested their assistance, leaving Harry, and occasionally Luna, to help with their feeding.

The four of them got along great in the years since the battle, sometimes as though nothing had ever happened. Which, Harry thought, was as good a way as any to cope with the losses that they had suffered that night, that year. But Harry occasionally saw a crack in the façade, and their anxiety over the Thestrals was one of those times.

He could understand, he supposed. To see a Thestral meant that you have seen death. Although Harry had seen much death in his time, Cedric in his fourth year, Sirius in his fifth, and Dumbledore in his sixth, the creatures were invisible to the others until after the battle. Ron and Hermione, who had not been present during the deaths of Mad-Eye Moody and Dobby, would obviously feel uncomfortable being in the presence of a suddenly visible Thestral, knowing that it was there because they watched Fred Weasley die.

And Ginny… Although there were at least fifty who died that night, Harry had an idea that Ginny’s first death was that of either Remus or Nymphadora Lupin. He didn’t know many specifics about where she had gone after they entered the Room of Requirement that night. He only knew that Dora had run off, they had gone in, and Ginny had left for who-knows-where by the time they came out with Malfoy, Goyle, and the diadem.

Ginny had kept silent about what she had seen at Hogwarts, even through all of the many funerals they had attended the summer after the battle. She only once made a brief mention of what had happened to her in the two-and-a-half years since that night. She told Harry that she had seen the Lupins alive after he, Ron, and Hermione had gone into the Room. But then she turned pale, choked her voice off, and quickly changed the subject. Harry didn’t press, didn’t feel comfortable pressing, knowing it was only a matter of time before Ginny came to him to talk about the rest of that night, if she ever would.

“I didn’ bring them out to haul the carriages the year you lot came back,” said Hagrid as the four Thestrals, wings folded to their sides, began to eat more vigorously of the meat. “The Ministry had done a good job on them after I was gone. Called ‘em _dangerous creatures_ , or some such nonsense.” Hagrid snorted. “ _Dangerous creatures_ … Dangerous to the Death Eaters, more like. They knew that, unlike the Acromantulas and the werewolves, the Thestrals were loyal to Dumbledore and the school. So they slaughtered ‘em. These were the only four left by the time I got back, and they were so weak that I didn’t think they were ready to be hooked up to any buggies.

“You missed a show las’ year, though,” he continued sadly. “I decided to mix ‘em up with the horses, figured it’d be about time for them to get them back in gear, you know? Unfort’nately, not all the students were prepared for ‘em. Didn’ know what they were, or only knew what they had been told by their superstitious parents. That seeing a Thestral’s bad luck, you know? A porten’ of death, or whatever. Never had so many students in one year who have been able to see ‘em before. A bunch refused to even ride in the carriages. Thought they was bein’ hauled off to Hell, to their doom. There was as much Calming Draught being drunk at that feast than there was pumpkin juice, I’ll tell you that.”

“Wow,” Harry breathed, realizing that his reaction was probably better than most since he didn’t know anything about the legends surrounding Thestrals when he first saw them.

“Shame, innit?” said Hagrid. “Such beautiful creatures. So misunderstood…”

Even though he was used to them by now, Harry still had difficulty calling the corpse-like Thestrals _beautiful._ Intriguing, perhaps. Definitely interesting, and graceful in their own way. Neat in the same way that the cover art for one of Dudley’s Megadeth CDs could be considered _neat_. But _beautiful…_

“Have those squirrels handy, Harry?” Hagrid asked, nearly knocking Harry over as he elbowed his shoulder, and pointed to the bushes. Harry’s mouth dropped open.

“Hagrid…” he whispered. “Are those…?”

“Thestral foals, yeah,” Hagrid replied, practically beaming as two miniature Thestrals came into the clearing to join the adults. Each one no larger than a Border Collie, with stubby, immature wings sticking from their backs, they reminded Harry of ponies from some extremely twisted zombie movie. But they were…

“They’re really… cute,” Harry admitted before he even knew what words were coming up his throat.

“Ain’t they, though?” said Hagrid. “Only a month old, and first of what’ll be many new generations of Thestrals to populate Hogwarts, I’m hopin’. Tough to get these last four to breed, but when we did… Go on, toss ‘em a treat.”

Hagrid pointed Harry toward the bag, and Harry flinched only momentarily as he reached in and grabbed the tail of one of the “treats” ( _Still warm_ , he thought, and decided he didn’t want to think about that) and flipped it toward the foals. The two tiny Thestrals followed the squirrel’s arc as it flew through the air, and both pounced on it as soon as it hit the ground, trying desperately to tug it from the other’s mouth before Harry tossed them a second.

“See? You’re getting good at this,” said Hagrid, thumping Harry on the back and knocking him over. “Bleedin’ shame you didn’ finish my class through to your N.E.W.T. year, eh?”

“Why, are you looking for an assistant?” Harry asked as he pulled himself to his feet, and Hagrid snorted laughter.

“I think you’re a little overqualified, Harry,” he said as he reached into the bag and tossed the young Thestrals another squirrel as though he were tossing a piece of bread to a flock of birds.

“So how goes the job hunt, anyway?” Hagrid asked. “Find somewhere to settle yourself into yet? Your true callin’?”

“Not yet,” Harry said slowly, always dreading the _career_ conversation that he inevitably had with every adult in his life.

“That’s good,” said Hagrid, “And don’t give me that look. You’re young, Harry. If you’ve already figured out what you’re going to do with the rest of your life, where you’re gonna plant your roots, then you’re way ahead of the curve. Beyond that, you’re probably a lot better off driftin’ for a bit. It’s one thing to have an education to prepare you for the real world. It’s another to actually do it. Ideas about your future change when you actually start livin’ it, and you don’ wanna be stuck somewhere that you hate.”

Harry chuckled through his look of shock. “You know, you’re actually the first grown-up to not get angry at me for not working.”

“Yer twenty, Harry, you can stop callin’ us _grown-ups_ , because you’re one, too. And just because I said don’t find your true callin’ don’ mean that I wanted you to stop looking. Yer first job might not be the one you’ll be in forty years down the line, but you won’t find that one if you’re sittin’ on your arse all day. How ‘bout those Ministry offers? Thought of takin’ any of them up?”

“Thought about it,” said Harry. “But I don’t know if I’m comfortable with them yet. Kingsley’s doing a good job, but it’s still the Ministry.”

Hagrid grunted. “How about them Quidditch invites? Chudley’s havin’ an off year, they could use a Seeker like you. Kenmare, too. I guess O’Malley went down with a Bludger to the head, and her reserve couldn’t catch a Snitch if it were Spellotaped to his hand.”

Harry shook his head. “They’ll take advantage of my status. I want to play because I’m a good Seeker, not because I’m The Chosen One.”

Hagrid ran his fingers through his beard, and even through all of the hair, Harry could see the frustration in his eyes.

“So lemme get this straight,” he growled. “You don’t want to work for the Ministry because you don’ trust ‘em?”

“Right now, yes.”

“Yet you don’ have no problem with Hermione workin’ with ‘em. Encouragin’ her, even. A job that’s beneath you isn’t beneath her…”

“Hagrid, that’s different…”

“And you’re afraid that you’ll get put on a Quidditch team because of who you are, not because of what you can do. And you don’ think that Ginny might be going through the same thing? That they might be using her same as they’d use you? She is gonna be the wife of the Chosen One, after all, which is as close as Holyhead could get, considerin’ they’re an all-lady squad…”

“She’s just on the reserve squad,” Harry insisted. “If they wanted to take advantage of my status through her, she would have been put on the main club right out…”

“Right,” said Hagrid shortly. “So you’re too scared to work for the Ministry, and too scared to get onto a Quidditch team.”

“I’m not scared,” said Harry, trying hard to keep his voice down, as the Thestrals were starting to get a little antsy around the arguing pair. “It’s just…”

“So what else have you got in mind?”

“Actually,” Harry said, taking a deep breath. “I was thinking I could work here.”

Hagrid stopped in mid-rant, and looked down at Harry, his black eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Work here,” said Harry. “At Hogwarts.”

“It tol’ ya, I don’ need an assistant.”

“Not as an assistant…”

“Then what?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” Harry explained. “Professor Squall’s doing a good job as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. But his methods are more like Snape’s and Umbridge’s. Focuses more on the theory of Defense than on the actual practice.”

“So?”

“So I was thinking I could come back and make the D.A. a full-time class,” said Harry. “Something for the upper-level, post-O.W.L. students who want to be Aurors, or want to do something where defensive and offensive spells are important. Make the class more practical; focus on wand-work and tactics over, you know, lessons on law and boggarts. And then, one day, when Squall decides to retire, I could be in line to become the next Defense professor.”

Hagrid studied Harry through his bushy beard, and Harry tried his best to look back into his eyes with confidence.

“Yer serious about this?”

“Absolutely.”

Harry didn’t know how Hagrid would react to his idea. But it still came as a surprise to see him turn away, shaking his head sadly.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Hagrid sighed. “You really _haven’_ thought this through, have you?”

“Of course I have,” Harry said defensively. “Hagrid, it makes perfect sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Hagrid. “Because if you had thought it through, _really_ thought it through, you’d know that Hogwarts is the last place for you to have a career.”

“Why?” asked Harry. “I mean, I love Hogwarts…it’s like a home to me. I want to give back to it.”

“So did Tom Riddle,” growled Hagrid. “But that’s not the important part. There are plenty of reasons for you to not work here. Ginny being the first among ‘em.”

“I’m sure Ginny would love to know that I’m working here…”

“Good Lord, Harry,” Hagrid said. “She’d _hate_ it.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because have you ever heard of a Mr. McGonagall?” Hagrid asked. “Or a Mrs. Flitwick? Any mention of little Sprouts runnin’ around?”

Harry’s mouth hung open. He thought back. Did any of his professors ever mention a family? Slughorn? Trelawney? Even Lockhart, who could have had any woman he wanted before his brains turned to mush?

“I love Hogwarts,” said Hagrid, more patiently this time. “I thank Dumbledore every day that he gave me the job that I got, knowing that an expulsion for someone like me meant that I was lookin’ at a life of haulin’ rocks. But I knew from the beginning that, if I opened the door to this point in my life, that I’d have to close others. That’s why things didn’ work between me and Olympe. I couldn’ leave Hogwarts, and she couldn’ leave Beauxbatons.”

Hagrid reached into the bag, and this time tossed a squirrel to one of the adult Thestrals.

“Bein’ a professor at Hogwarts,” he continued, “Even bein’ an employee, like Filch or Pomfrey, is a great job. The school becomes your home. The students become your children. But it also comes at a price. Because as long as you’re workin’ here, there’s nothin’ else in your life. No one else. You work here. You sleep here. You eat here. You patrol the halls at night, and you feast in the Great Hall at Christmas and Easter. You get the weekends to wander into Hogsmeade occasionally, when you’re not on guard duty. And you get a month, maybe two, in the summer before you have to come back again and get ready for the next lot.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. Could he live that life? Knowing that he could only see Ginny a few times a year? That he would never be there for their children, or for Teddy?

“See?” said Hagrid, seeing Harry’s face, “I got ya thinkin’, didn’ I? There’s a reason Hogwarts has so many Trelawneys and Firenzes and Rubeus Hagrids. There’s a reason why Binns is using every day of his immortal afterlife to teach History of Magic instead of going on to the great beyond. Because this is all we have.”

Harry watched silently as the Thestrals, having their fill, turned back to the forest and trotted off.

“You have more than this, Harry,” said Hagrid. “Hogwarts may have been your home when your only other option was the Dursleys. But you have a home now. And a godson. And you got Ginny, a great woman, who you love, who loves you back. You got yourself a family, one that’ll only get bigger when little Potters start poppin’ out. Don’t ruin it by clinging to your past.”

Harry nodded, at a loss for words. _God, what_ had _I been thinking?_

“Well, looks like they’ve had enough,” said Hagrid, wiping his hands. “Wanna go back to the hut, have a cuppa tea?”

“Sure,” said Harry, looking down at the bag. “What do you want me to do with…?”

“Ah, leave ‘em,” Hagrid said, waving his hand dismissively. “Just dump ‘em on the ground. If they want more, they can have ‘em.”

Harry nodded, and dumped the half-dozen or so remaining squirrels on the ground.

“Actually,” said Hagrid. “Grab one or two to bring back with us. Buckbeak might be wantin’ a snack.”

“Ummm, sure,” Harry hesitated. It was one thing to grab them for a few seconds before tossing them by their tails, but it was another to carry them back through the forest. In the end, he decided to toss them back into the sack and carry them that way. He’d deal with the mess when he got home.

The two turned around and walked down the path toward Hogwarts.

“So how’s the wedding comin’ along?” Hagrid asked after a few minutes. “Figure out a date yet?”

“Oh, that’s right!” Harry said, patting the pockets of his jacket. “I brought an invitation for you. I already dropped them off to the other professors.”

He reached into his pocket, realizing as he did that he still had some of the squirrel blood on his fingers. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, handing it to Hagrid. “It’s got a little red on it.”

“That’s alright,” said Hagrid, trying his best to open the small golden envelope, now looking more like Gryffindor colors with Harry’s maroon fingerprints. “It’ll probably get slobbered on soon as Fang gets a look at it, anyway. Do you mind…?”

“Oh, right,” Harry said, taking the envelope from Hagrid’s huge hand and opening it. “Here you go. The fifteenth of July, at the Burrow.”

“Both weddins at once, eh?” Hagrid said, squinting down at the paper. “Grand idea, that. Surprised you’re doin’ it at the Burrow, though. Molly’s gonna have a fit, with the crowd that’s gotta be showin’.”

“We offered to have it at the church in Ottery St. Catchpole,” said Harry. “But she wouldn’t have it any other way. Mr. and Mrs. Granger have never been to a wizard wedding before, so Mrs. Weasley claimed her prerogative as the mother of the other bride to set it all up.”

“She’ll have a fit,” Hagrid repeated. “And I still don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad.”

“The crowd’s not going to be too much larger, anyway,” Harry explained. “Hermione’s only bringing a small crowd. Her parents; her grandparents; a couple aunts, uncles, and cousins on her Dad’s side. Her Mum’s an only child. Hermione’s oldest cousin’s going to be her maid of honor.”

“So you got that whole Statute of Secrecy thing figured out?”

“For the most part,” said Harry. “We talked to some people, all four of us. Mostly my aunt.”

“That must have been a kick and a half. Where are they livin’, now, anyway?”

“Milwaukee—in the States,” Harry shrugged. “Uncle Vernon got a job with a drill company there after they escaped, but they’re talking about moving back soon. And it didn’t go as badly as I expected, actually. Anyway, Aunt Petunia said that my Mum had her whole family out when she married my Dad. So we figured that it wouldn’t be much of an issue with the Grangers. It’s fine letting some people know that magic exists, just so long as they know that they’re in big trouble if they let it out. But this is Hermione’s family we’re talking about. They’ll keep our confidence.”

“Good,” said Hagrid. “I’m sure it’ll be a lovely time. Take pictures, alright?”

“Why?” said Harry as the two reached the edge of the forest. “You’re not coming?”

“I probably shouldn’t,” said Hagrid sadly. “It’s one thing to tell Muggles about magic. It’s another thing to have… you know… someone like me wanderin’ around, scaring them half to death.”

“Hagrid, you have to be there,” said Harry. “I don’t think it will be an issue. You walk around London all the time, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I suppose…”

“Hagrid,” Harry said, stopping in front of the hut. “Don’t worry about them, alright? If I thought for a moment that the Grangers would be uncomfortable around you, then the double wedding would be off. I’d rather have a small civil ceremony that you could attend than have a big, elaborate wedding without you.”

“You mean that?”

“Absolutely!” said Harry. “Hagrid, you mean a lot to me, you should know that. You’ve been more like a father to me than anyone else. I couldn’t get married without you there.”

And then Harry couldn’t breathe as Hagrid enveloped him in a rib-cracking hug.

“Ah, Harry!” Hagrid bawled. “You don’t know… ahhh…”

“NNnnts fnnnn,” Harry said into Hagrid’s coat. “Nnnnts nnnnt nnnn bnnnng…”

Hagrid didn’t respond, big wet tears plopping Harry on the head.

“Hnnngrnnnd,” Harry said, smacking him on the side. “Brthng bcnmnnnng nnnn nnnnssnnn.”

“Wazzat, Harry?”

“Breathing becoming an issue,” Harry said, able to pull his head away long enough to speak.

“Oh!” Hagrid said, letting him go. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s alright,” said Harry, straightening his glasses while also making sure that they hadn’t become permanently imbedded onto the bridge of his nose. “I’m used to it.”

“Thanks, Harry,” said Hagrid, wiping the tears from his beady eyes. “You’re a good kid. Always have been.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, blushing. “Besides, I gave an invitation to Firenze. And Kreacher’s going to be helping Mrs. Weasley with the food. So if you’re the one who draws the most odd looks, then there’s something wrong with the world. Want to go in?”

“Sure, sure,” said Hagrid, climbing the steps to the hut and opening the door, allowing Harry to walk in. Harry knew what was coming, and steeled himself as Fang jumped onto him as Hagrid prepared the fire for some tea.

“So,” Hagrid asked slyly after the fire-warmed kettle was pulled from the hearth. “How goes the job hunt?”

Harry shrugged. “I think I might talk to Mr. Weasley. See what kinds of positions are open in one of the Muggle-related departments at the Ministry.”

“Got a lot of experience with Muggles, have ya?”

“A bit,” he said, and Hagrid chuckled. “It’s not anything important. But it’s a start.”

“Everything’s important,” said Hagrid. “Even if you’re telling Muggles why their begonias attacked their poodle, it’s still important because it’s leading you up to who you’ll be someday. An’ that’s all that matters.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, taking a sip of tea and looking through the window of the hut. “That’s all that matters.”


	12. Three Years Later: The Wedding

  
Author's notes: I own Hermione’s family; the rest belong to JK Rowling.  


* * *

  
  
 

  
  
 

  
  
Three Years Later:

  
  
The Wedding

  
  
 

  
  
 

  
  
\--------

  
  
 

  
  
_Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Weasley_

  
  
_And_

  
  
_Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Granger_

  
  
_request the honour of your presence_

  
  
_at the marriage of their daughters_

  
  
_Ginevra Molly Weasley_

  
  
_to_

  
  
_Harry James Potter_

  
  
_and_

  
  
_Hermione Jean Granger_

  
  
_to_

  
  
_Ronald Bilius Weasley_

  
  
_On Saturday the fifteenth of July_

  
  
_At the Weasleys’ home_

  
  
_Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon_

  
  
_(Address, driving directions,_

  
  
_train and Portkey schedules_

  
  
_available on the next page)_

  
  
 

  
  
 ---------

  
  
 

  
  
“You have to be effing kidding me,” Vernon Dursley groaned. “They’re going to kill us all.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Dad, please,” his son, Dudley sighed as they, along with Petunia Dursley, parked their car, driven for the first time in over three years, along with a dozen or so others in a clearing near the Burrow.

  
  
 

  
  
“It’s a madhouse, that’s what it is,” Vernon continued, large jowls wobbling as he slammed the door. “A bleeding insane asylum, built by the inmates. I mean, look at it!”

  
  
 

  
  
Petunia couldn’t help but agree with her husband. As they approached the oddly-built house, with its five chimneys, three or four floors hastily built on top of each other, tilted in all sorts of odd directions, she felt slightly ill at ease.

  
  
 

  
  
“You mark my words,” Vernon continued as they approached the gate, adjusting his tie around his large neck he walked. “One call to Building Regulations and this place would be shut down before they pop the cork on the champagne.”

  
  
 

  
  
“We’ll be fine,” Dudley said. “Harry’s spent summers and holidays here for years, and he came out of it alright. It’s probably being held up by magic. Besides, we’re not even going in, see the tents?”

  
  
 

  
  
Dudley motioned with his large arm (less fat and more muscle by the year, Petunia noted with some pride) toward the massive front yard of the house, where there were at least a half dozen tents surrounding rows and rows of white wooden chairs. On the outer edges were even more tarps, wrapped neatly around their posts. As they approached, more and more of the chairs were being filled by the wedding guests, with even more waiting outside the gate to be seated by what Petunia counted as four ushers.

  
  
 

  
  
“Like that makes any difference,” Vernon retorted. “They’re still built by the same freaks and madmen that built the house. Out of the frying pan, into the fire, that’s what I say.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Dad, could you please, _please_ stop calling them freaks and madmen? Just for one day?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Don’t you talk back to me, boy,” Vernon said, pointing a piggy finger at Dudley’s face, which was a good six inches above his own. “I could still put you over me knee, you know.”

  
  
 

  
  
“I just thought you could give them some consideration,” said Dudley. “We’re their guests, after all. And they _did_ save our lives.”

  
  
 

  
  
“They’re turning you, that’s what it is,” grumbled Vernon. “Spend a year with those loonies and my son learns to disrespect his elders.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Dad, I’m not disrespecting…”

  
  
 

  
  
Petunia watched this argument silently, as she had watched all of their arguments in the nine months since Harry Potter, along with his friend whose name she couldn’t remember (it was on the invitation somewhere, but Vernon had it in his pocket) had visited their flat in Milwaukee. It had been a brief visit and, with Vernon out of the house at the drill factory and Dudley at the construction site, it was just the three of them and a couple cups of Starbucks.

  
  
 

  
  
Conversation was tensely polite. They asked Petunia about Lily. Asked her about her wedding with the Potter boy all those years ago. Apparently the girl (not the one that Harry was marrying; this one was marrying his future wife’s brother) was born to normal parents, just as Lily and Petunia had been, and she asked Petunia about who had attended, how much had her family known about Lily and her kind, and so on and so on and so on.

  
  
 

  
  
And they exchanged a few more forced pleasantries, and they were on their way but not before leaving behind a golden envelope that contained a wedding invitation. Petunia had considered opening it. Considered taking the box of matches and burning it in the kitchen sink. In the end, she left it sitting on the kitchen table, allowing the others to make the decision for her own torn mind.

  
  
 

  
  
The truth of the matter was that, for all of the horrible things that Harry had done to their family over the years, part of her wanted to be here. Speaking to the Headmaster of Harry’s school seemed to change her mind about the situation surrounding their nephew and his situation.

  
  
 

  
  
But mostly it was Little Duddikins, and his reaction to Harry before their departure from Little Whinging, that made her realize that she still felt some sort of obligation towards the boy. He was Lily’s son, after all, and for all that had happened between them after Lily found out who she really was, Petunia felt like she owed it to her sister to be here.

  
  
 

  
  
So she felt a secret relief that Dudley had come home first that afternoon. He really had changed, just as Vernon said. Not just in the time since they left Surrey, but in the time since he had been attacked by the Dementors the summer he turned fifteen.  It was amazing to realize that this boy was the same one she had raised, the one who had followed his parents’ line regarding Harry. Dudley was the first to see the invitation. And he asked her if they could go back to England for the wedding.

  
  
 

  
  
“It’s a couple weeks before we’re moving back, anyway,” he had said as she gave him a neutral glare. “Might save us on some airfare to get the paperwork out of the way on the same trip.”

  
  
 

  
  
Vernon, who would have torn up the invitation and probably eaten it if he hadn’t been afraid it would do something horrible to his intestines, was vehemently against it. The two Dursley men argued for months before finally turning to Petunia, each begging for her to make the dissenting opinion in their favor.

  
  
 

  
  
“Whatever Dudders wants,” she sighed. “We do need to go back, anyway, Vernon.”

  
  
 

  
  
“But, Petunia…” Vernon said, his face slack with sorrow.

  
  
 

  
  
“He’s going to go with or without us,” she said, and that was true. Dudley had on more than one occasion said that he had enough saved up in the three years since they moved to America, especially while still living under their roof. He could easily afford airfare and hotel for the weekend. “If they’re such a danger, do you want him to go alone?”

  
  
 

  
  
In the end, Vernon grudgingly relented, using the excuse that he “needed to check the house, anyway, to make sure that the freaks hadn’t done anything horrible to it” while they were away.

  
  
 

  
  
The two continued to argue as they reached the end of the line into the wedding. They continued to argue as the line eventually thinned, leading them to the front gate and a tall, skinny black boy.

  
  
 

  
  
“Weasley, Granger, or friend?” he asked them.

  
  
 

  
  
“None of the above,” Vernon muttered.

  
  
 

  
  
“Potter,” said Dudley to the boy, who appeared to be about the same age as himself. Petunia guessed that this must be one of Harry’s classmates.

  
  
 

  
  
“Potter?” he repeated. “You mean, like, a friend of Potter?”

  
  
 

  
  
“No, we’re relatives,” sniffed Petunia, marveling at the presumption of the boy, who stared blankly back at them before his eyes widened.

  
  
 

  
  
“Relatives?” he gasped. “Like… you’re the Dursleys?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Oh, good, he’s heard of us,” said Vernon sarcastically.

  
  
 

  
  
“Wow, um,” the boy stammered, obviously thrown off. “Could I… umm… could I see your invitation please?”

  
  
 

  
  
“You don’t believe us?” asked Vernon, and Petunia could see that her husband’s face was getting red.

  
  
 

  
  
“No, I do,” the boy said quickly. “It’s just procedure for Muggles. We need to make sure the invitations don’t slip out into the wrong hands. Statute of Secrecy, you know?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Statute of what?” Vernon blared, but Dudley quickly grabbed the invitation from his father’s hand and handed it over to the boy, who read it carefully.

  
  
 

  
  
“Bloody hell,” he breathed, and cleared his throat nervously before turning around and calling, “Seamus! Get over here!”

  
  
 

  
  
“What is all this?” Vernon said as a second boy ran up to the first, and they exchanged a few words as two girls walked up and escorted the parties behind them to their seats. “Why are we being treated like criminals?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Well, if Harry’s busy, go get George,” he heard the black boy whisper to the other. “He’s met them before.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Why does that name sound familiar?” Vernon asked Petunia as the second boy ran off toward one of the two smaller tents behind the rows of chairs.

  
  
 

  
  
“Sorry about all this,” said the boy. “In all honesty, we weren’t expecting you to come. We’re just making sure that you are who you are, and not… umm… imposters.”

  
  
 

  
  
“ _Imposters_?” Vernon bellowed. “The nerve of you people.”

  
  
 

  
  
But he cut himself off quickly as he saw the second boy return with another in tow, a shorter redheaded boy with an odd button on his lapel.

  
  
 

  
  
“You…” Vernon roared as the redhead looked them up and down with great distaste.

  
  
 

  
  
“They look like them, yeah,” he said to the two others.

  
  
 

  
  
“You’re the freak that turned Dudley’s tongue into a…!”

  
  
 

  
  
“That freak was my twin brother,” the redhead (George, Petunia recalled) said flatly, and she noticed for the first time that he was missing his left ear. “And he’s no longer with us, so watch your mouth about him.”

  
  
 

  
  
“ _Blah_!” the large button on his lapel yelled, “ _I vant to suck your bloooood_!” Petunia saw that there was a picture of a small boy in a vampire costume on it, opening and closing his fanged mouth.

  
  
 

  
  
“That them?” the first boy asked.

  
  
 

  
  
“Yeah, that’s them,” George replied. “You can come on in. I’ll go warn Harry that you’re here.”

  
  
 

  
  
“I like your button,” Dudley said as George turned away.

  
  
 

  
  
“Don’t encourage him,” Vernon whispered under his breath, but George replied,

  
  
 

  
  
“Thanks.”

  
  
 

  
  
“That your brother?”

  
  
 

  
  
“That’s Fred, yeah,” George replied. “He was a vampire that year, and I was a spatula.”

  
  
 

  
  
“It suits him,” Dudley replied.

  
  
 

  
  
“Yeah,” George said, snorting a sad laugh. “I’d give my left ear to have him back, too. Enjoy yourselves. Make sure he doesn’t make too many snide remarks. Auntie Muriel’s gonna give enough for everyone.” At this, he pointed at Vernon and walked away.

  
  
 

  
  
“You can sit wherever,” the black boy said to them. “Weasleys are mostly on this side,” he pointed to his left. “And the other side is Grangers and friends of the family. Anything that’s not roped off is open season.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Thank you, um…” Petunia paused.

  
  
 

  
  
“Dean,” the boy said. “Dean Thomas.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Thomas,” said Vernon. “Finally, a good English name around here. You’re one of the normals, right, boy?”

  
  
 

  
  
“No, I’m a wizard,” Dean replied.

  
  
 

  
  
“Oh,” Vernon said as though he had just eaten something nasty, and walked down the aisle without another word. Dudley gave Dean an apologetic shrug before following his parents.

  
  
 

  
  
“We’re surrounded by them,” Vernon said conspiratorially. “Magic people everywhere. They could do anything they wanted to us.”

  
  
 

  
  
“We’re not the only Muggles, Dad,” Dudley said. “The Granger girl’s family is, too, remember?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Well, they gave birth to one of them,” Vernon retorted. “So they have to be somewhat abnormal.”

  
  
 

  
  
Petunia, who always insulted Lily for being a witch, but never blamed her parents, bit back a sharp reply, knowing that it would only cause a scene that she didn’t feel like causing. Before she could go on, she saw two small children run by them.

  
  
 

  
  
“Teddy!” a woman yelled as Vernon nearly tripped over the boy (who Petunia saw had his hair dyed purple), “’Ermione! Stop running and sit down!”

  
  
 

  
  
“I got ‘em, Fleur,” came a booming voice from behind them. “C’mere, ye little rascals!”

  
  
 

  
  
The two children, who appeared to be not much older than three, giggled as the creature that had haunted the Dursleys’ nightmares for years picked them up, one on each arm.

  
  
 

  
  
“Good Lord,” Vernon breathed as the blond girl tugged on the giant’s beard. “He’s going to eat them…”

  
  
 

  
  
Even Dudley, whose last experience with this thing finished with him growing a tail, turned a pale shade and took an involuntary step backward, nearly running into the beautiful blond woman coming up behind them. The creature looked down at the family, and his eyes narrowed.

  
  
 

  
  
“Dursley,” it said, nodding its head briefly. Vernon’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

  
  
 

  
  
“Excuse me,” the blonde said quickly to the Dursleys as she passed them “Zank you, ‘Agrid. Zese two, zey are a ‘andful.”

  
  
 

  
  
 “It’s not a problem, Fleur,” said Hagrid, bouncing the two up and down. “I know how kids can get. Weren’t Andromeda watchin’ ‘em, too? And Bill?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Andromeda needed a break, I gave her a break,” Fleur shrugged. “And Bill is too busy keeping Victoire from crawling away to watch zem.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Where’s Mummy?” the young girl asked.

  
  
 

  
  
“Mummy’s in the tent,” said Hagrid, and Petunia was shocked to hear the giant’s voice grow gentle and soothing in contrast to his body. “She’s getting your sister ready for the wedding, but she’ll be out soon.” He turned back to Fleur. “D’you want me to watch ‘em for a bit?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Zat would be lovely,” Fleur sighed. “Do you want to stay wit ‘Agrid, Teddy? ‘Ermione?”

  
  
 

  
  
Both of the children nodded vigorously. Petunia did a double take at the boy. “Wasn’t his hair just purple?” she asked, pointing to the now blazing red head.

  
  
 

  
  
“Prob’ly, yeah,” said Hagrid, as though this were a normal occurrence. “Glad you lot could make it.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Petunia!” called a voice from the right side. “Dudley! There’s chairs over here!” Petunia turned to see a hand sticking out from a throng of people. Eventually the body it belonged to worked its way forward, and Petunia recognized her.

  
  
 

  
  
“There’s Hestia,” she said, seeing Dedalus Diggle was sitting next to her, looking uncomfortable around the small group that was circling a chair on Hestia Jones’s other side. Realizing that this was probably the closest they were going to get to sitting by people they knew, Petunia and Dudley started moving down the aisle, Vernon giving Hagrid a nervous glance as he followed them.

  
  
 

  
  
“Did you see that?” he whispered to Dudley. “Did you see the look in that monster’s eyes? He wanted to kill me!”

  
  
 

  
  
“Well, you _did_ stick a shotgun in his face.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Before he bent it in half!” Vernon hissed. “Didn’t I tell you this was dangerous?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Give it a rest, Dad,” Dudley said. “Hey, Mr. Diggle.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Hello, Dudley,” Dedalus muttered. It had taken a little time, and a few close brushes with death, before the Dursleys,well, Petunia and Dudley, anyway, became friendly with their protectors, Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones. Petunia could tell that Diggle’s half-hearted response was less to their presence than it was to the crowd at his side.

  
  
 

  
  
“No more autographs, please!” a woman’s voice yelled from the middle of the circle. “I’m here for a wedding, not a publicity shoot!”

  
  
 

  
  
“One more, Miss Jones, please?” a small redheaded girl asked, holding a scrap of tissue out to the woman as the Dursleys sat down beside Dedalus.

  
  
 

  
  
The woman sighed. “Fine, fine, give,” she held her hands out, and the girl jumped up and down with glee.

  
  
 

  
  
“Petunia, Dudley,” Hestia said, pointedly ignoring Vernon, who was doing his best to ignore them in return, “I’d like to introduce you to my sister, Gwenog.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Pleasure,” Gwenog Jones replied, not looking up from the tissue she was scribbling on. “You’re Potter’s relatives, aren’t you? The Muggles?”

  
  
 

  
  
“I’m his mother’s sister,” Petunia replied, not sure if she liked this woman’s brusque attitude.

  
  
 

  
  
“Surprised you all made it,” Gwenog said, handing the paper back to the girl as the crowd dispersed. “From everything I heard from Hessie, sounded like you were ready to write him off.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Some of us were,” Vernon grumbled just loud enough to be heard.

  
  
 

  
  
“He’s a good kid, Potter,” Gwenog continued. “Met him a few times after Ginny made the club.”

  
  
 

  
  
“The club?” asked Dudley. “You play that broomstick game, then? The… Qualnut?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Quidditch,” Gwenog replied. “I’m the Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies. Weasel’s on our reserve squad, but she’s an injury away from becoming one of our starting Chasers. Maybe less than an injury, if Upjohn keeps playing the way she’s been.”

  
  
 

  
  
“ _Weasel’s_ their nickname for Ginny,” Hestia muttered to Petunia. “I really don’t think it fits a girl like her, but what are you going to do? It’s an athlete thing.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Ginny’s the Ginevra that Harry’s marrying?” Petunia asked, trying to keep the names straight.

  
  
 

  
  
“The same,” Hestia nodded. “You haven’t met her?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Only the other one,” said Petunia. “The brunette.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Hermione, right,” Hestia nodded.

  
  
 

  
  
“So that’s how you pronounce that name,” Dudley said, chuckling. “I thought it was Her-mee-own.”

  
  
 

  
  
“It’s tricky,” said Dedalus. 

  
  
 

  
  
 “Anyway, yeah,” Gwenog continued unabated, “Weasel’s a great girl from a great family. Harry couldn’t have picked a better one. You’ll be glad to have her around.”

  
  
 

  
  
Petunia looked over at Vernon, who was staring whey-faced at what looked like a centaur. Are _we going to have her around?_ she thought, shocked at herself that the half-man-half-horse wasn’t causing her more discomfort.

  
  
 

  
  
Petunia Dursley had assumed coming in that Harry’s wedding would be the last act the Dursleys would play in this story, both with the Potters and with the wizarding world. That they would go back to their lives in the real world and forget the last twenty years as some sordid nightmare. But now, looking at Dudley take such an avid interest in the people here, in the opinions and feelings of Harry’s friends, as well as in Harry himself, she wasn’t so sure…

  
  
 

  
  
\---------

  
  
 

  
  
“Is that everyone?” Elizabeth asked as she walked back up the aisle.

  
  
 

  
  
“Looks like,” her cousin, Theresa Granger, replied, taking one last quick glance around the outside of the fence. “Dean and Seamus already sat down, we should probably be finding our seats.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Uncle Gavin saved you a spot?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Yeah, the whole fam’s staying together. I think your Mum and Dad are with them. Grandma Granger, too.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Is Geoffrey over there?” Elizabeth asked, referring to Geoffrey Banks, Aunt Charlotte’s father, Hermione’s grandfather.

  
  
 

  
  
“I think so,” said Theresa. “Since Uncle Danny and Aunt Charlotte are both busy, he hasn’t had anyone else to hang out with besides us.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Alright,” Elizabeth said, looking around the spot where the four ushers had been positioned for the past hour, making sure everything was in order.

  
  
 

  
  
“Okay, maybe not everyone’s seated yet.”

  
  
 

  
  
Theresa was looking over the field where, about thirty feet away, a lone figure stood watching the proceedings.

  
  
 

  
  
“Good Lord, it’s like he appeared out of thin air.” Theresa said.

  
  
 

  
  
“I’m never going to get used to that teleportation thing.”

  
  
 

  
  
“I think they call it Appartution, or something,” Theresa corrected.

  
  
 

  
  
“Whatever, he’s kind of cute,” Elizabeth said to her older cousin. “I’ll seat him, you go get with the others.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Are you sure?” Theresa asked with an arched eyebrow, “He’s a bit old for you, isn’t he?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Shut up, I’m sixteen,” Elizabeth replied crossly. “Even if he’s the same age as Hermione, that’s, what, five or six years? That’s nothing.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Whatever,” Theresa rolled her eyes. “Make it quick, though, the ceremony’s starting in a few minutes.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Right,” Elizabeth said, and waved Theresa quickly down the aisle as the man approached the gate.

  
  
 

  
  
_God, he_ is _cute,_ Elizabeth thought. He did look to be about Hermione’s age. Tall, pale, with almost white-blond hair, the man had a black trench coat in the July sun and a serious look on his face.  _Kind of a Jude Law type. Or maybe Heath Ledger_.

  
  
 

  
  
“Hello,” Elizabeth said brightly, adjusting her hair and straightening her flowery skirt.

  
  
 

  
  
“Hello,” the man said.

  
  
 

  
  
“Bride or groom?” Elizabeth asked, “Or… um… bride or… groom?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Neither,” the man said, and Elizabeth could see that he looked uncomfortable. Nervous, even.

  
  
 

  
  
“Oh, so you’re a friend?” Elizabeth breathed a mental sigh of relief ( _Thank God, not related._ ).

  
  
 

  
  
“Probably about as far from friends as you could get,” the man said. As he said it, his face turned slightly red, and Elizabeth could see pale scars sticking out on his cheek. So many of Hermione’s friends seemed to have scars of some sort. Elizabeth didn’t know much about Hermione’s life as a witch, had only learned that she _was_ a witch six or seven months ago. But there were some indications that all of the wounds these people were carrying (Ron’s brother was missing an ear, for God’s sake, and another of his brothers actually _died_ ) had something to do with Uncle Danny and Aunt Charlotte disappearing for a year, coming back from wherever with Elizabeth’s newest cousin.

  
  
 

  
  
_Why they named her Hermione again is beyond me,_ Elizabeth thought for not the first time.  _But I suppose some people have their quirks._ “Do you have an invitation?”

  
  
 

  
  
“No, I don’t,” the man continued, reaching into his pocket. “I’m actually just dropping off a gift.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, trying her best to mask the disappointment in her voice.

  
  
 

  
  
The man paused, his hand still in the pocket of his coat. “You’re not a Weasley,” he said, looking at her brown hair.

  
  
 

  
  
“Nope.”

  
  
 

  
  
“So you’re a Granger?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Wainwright, actually,” Elizabeth said. “My Mum is Hermione’s Dad’s sister. And my sister Gretchen is Hermione’s bridesmaid. We’re Moogles.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Muggles...”

  
  
 

  
  
“Something like that,” Elizabeth said, briefly flashing her glittering braces (courtesy of Daniel Granger, DDS). “I don’t like that name, anyway. Sounds like a swear word, you know?”

  
  
 

  
  
The man shrugged, and pulled two envelopes out of his pocket, handing them to Elizabeth. “Put these in the stack with the others, would you?”

  
  
 

  
  
“Sure, no problem,” Elizabeth said.  _Ron & Hermione _on one, _Harry & Ginny _on the other, Elizabeth was surprised that they had some small weight to them. She felt along the edge. “Are there keys in here? Did you buy them new cars?”

  
  
 

  
  
“No, they’re for some vaults,” the man said. “Created by me, under their names. My father would _Crucio_ me if he knew I was giving part of the family fortune to the Weasleys. But they could probably use some extra spending money. Wedding like this had to cost them quite a bit. Potter, too.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Okay…” Elizabeth said slowly, wondering why the man didn’t just write them a check. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”

  
  
 

  
  
“I don’t have an invitation,” the man repeated.

  
  
 

  
  
“Well,” Elizabeth shrugged, astonished with herself at her brazenness, “They didn’t let us Moogles bring any guests, since they didn’t want anyone finding out about them. But I’m sure if I had a wizard date it would be alright.”

  
  
 

  
  
The man cracked a small smile, causing Elizabeth to blush furiously. “I don’t think it would be a good idea,” he said. “Potter and I have never gotten along. These keys call us even, but I don’t think my presence would be the best thing for his wedding.”

  
  
 

  
  
“You’d be surprised,” Elizabeth insisted. “Dean and Seamus said that Harry’s aunt and uncle are here. From the way they were talking, I guess there’s a bit of bad blood involved. You probably couldn’t make it any worse.”

  
  
 

  
  
The man shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I should go.” And he turned and began to walk away.

  
  
 

  
  
Elizabeth, realizing it was her last chance, jumped the cliff. “Wait!” she yelled. “Umm… What’s your name?”

  
  
 

  
  
The man turned around. “Draco,” he said.

  
  
 

  
  
_Draco?_ Elizabeth thought.  _Weird name. Like a supervillain or something._

  
  
 

  
  
_Oh, God, do they_ have _supervillains in this world? Big, powerful supervillains like that guy from that X-Men movie? Is this Hermione’s supervillain?_

  
  
 

  
  
_Oh, whatever…_

  
  
 

  
  
“Could I have your phone number?”

  
  
 

  
  
“I don’t have a phone.”

  
  
 

  
  
“E-mail address?” Elizabeth pressed on, “ICQ number?”

  
  
 

  
  
Draco shook his head. “Wainwright…”

  
  
 

  
  
“Elizabeth…”

  
  
 

  
  
“You don’t want to ask out someone like me.  I promise.”

  
  
 

  
  
And he spun on his heel and disappeared into thin air, leaving Elizabeth Wainwright alone with two envelopes in her hand and the processional music beginning behind her.

  
\---------

  
  
  
Vernon Dursley stifled a yawn as The Boy walked to the front of the rows of chairs along with a tall redheaded boy that was obviously related to the freakish lot on the other side of the aisle.

  
  
 

  
  
_I should have never agreed to come,_ he mentally chastised.  _Monsters and giants and maniacs everywhere, blowing up houses and slicing each other’s ears off…_

  
  
 

  
  
And here came old one-ear now, the one whose brother turned Dudley’s tongue into a beluga whale all those years ago. He had a brunette on his arm, and they split off to stand by the other ginger kid.

  
  
 

  
  
_Can’t wait to get the lot of them out of our lives forever,_ Vernon thought as the couple was followed by another pair: a brown-haired boy with a scarred face and a blonde girl with big buggy eyes and… were those corks around her neck? He couldn’t tell, as they were soon too far away and standing next to The Boy, who Vernon noticed had a white pin on his lapel, too small to make out from this distance.

  
  
 

  
  
_Maybe we shouldn’t even move back,_ Vernon thought as the mass of people stood at once and turned around.  _Milwaukee’s been good to me. Dudley, too. At least we could keep an ocean between us and any mention of_ Potter.  _Bet you the house could fetch a good amount in today’s market; the three of us could buy a new one in Racine no problem._

  
  
 

  
  
As the first of the two brides walked down the aisle (the one that The Boy’s marrying, since she’s being escorted by that strange redheaded man that had come into their house and _destroyed it_ , and he’s the ginger kid’s father, and as freakish as things are here, I doubt that incest is a common practice in this day and age) Vernon heard an indignant sniff at his shoulder.

  
  
 

  
  
_Bout bloody time Petunia starts acting like herself,_ Vernon said, knowing that she had some snide comment prepared about the dress or the hair or whatever, before realizing that it had come not from his wife, but from across the aisle.

  
  
 

  
  
“Astonishing,” the ancient-looking woman said in a voice louder than even Petunia would have mustered. “Scandalous. The dress that she’s wearing…”

  
  
 

  
  
“Aunt Muriel,” the boy standing next to her, another redhead, this one with a ponytail ( _fucking hippie_ , Vernon thought) whispered, “Keep it down.”

  
  
 

  
  
“Look at that!” Muriel continued. “Whoever designed it should be drug out into the street and castrated!” 

  
  
 

  
  
“ _I_ designed it,” snapped the pretty blond girl ( _Some French name_ , Vernon recalled) from the hippie’s other side, a small child on her arm. A grim-looking man on the other side of the girl, with a goatee and heavy eyebrows, also looked over and gave the old woman a dark glance.

  
  
 

  
  
“You can practically see Ginevra’s nipples in the thing, it’s cut so low!”

  
  
 

  
  
_A woman after my own heart,_ thought Vernon.  _Just like Margie._ However much the girl heard, though, it didn’t seem to faze her. She rolled her eyes and smiled toward the front, where The Boy was just chuckling and shaking his head.

  
  
 

  
  
Vernon did have to admit, though, that the old bag was taking things a bit much. The dress didn’t look bad on the girl.  _Pretty little bird,_ Vernon thought as she passed.  _Not much up top, but a nice enough ass to make up for it._

  
  
 

  
  
As the second girl followed behind the first ( _What’s this double wedding nonsense, anyway?_ Vernon thought _. Making us sit through two different vows. Making things twice as long. Wasting a perfectly good afternoon when I could be golfing_ ), a chubby balding man on her arm, Vernon saw her crack a huge grin and wave toward the front.  _Hey,_ she mouthed, and The Boy raised his hand in response before she turned her attention back to Ginger.

  
  
 

  
  
_We’re leaving after the ceremony,_ Vernon decided as the crowd returned to their seats.  _No staying around for the reception. We’ve wasted enough time with The Boy, and it ends now._

  
  
 

  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen…” the old midget said from the front.

  
  
 

  
  
\---------

  
  
 

  
  
“…We are gathered here to celebrate the union of… well… four faithful souls…”

  
  
 

  
  
Neville Longbottom, as Harry Potter’s best man, had a fantastic view of the entire proceedings. The wizened old man, the same who had overseen Dumbledore’s funeral and, as Ron had explained earlier, over the wedding of Bill and Fleur Weasley, stood in the middle of the group of eight, with Neville and George Weasley, Ron’s best man, flanking him on either side, with Neville on his right and George on his left. Harry stood in front of Neville, with Ginny next to him and Luna Lovegood on the far end. On the other side, Ron and Hermione stood together, with Hermione’s cousin, Gretchen, the other bookend.

  
  
 

  
  
“Marriage,” the old man said, “is a fine, and storied, institution…”

  
  
 

  
  
Neville felt the words of the priest drift over him as he glanced around at the sea of people. He knew that not an eye in the place was on him, but the size of the crowd was intimidating nonetheless. Intimidating, but reassuring at the same time. Knowing that so many people cared about his friends to come out, even Harry’s last surviving blood relatives, was an amazing thing.

  
  
 

  
  
He dared to take a glance over at Luna, who was dressed in a bright yellow sundress. She looks absolutely radiant, Neville thought, astonished that he thought even that poetically about someone.

  
  
 

  
  
Luna looked back, and their eyes met. She gave him a small smile, and looked away, her face reddening.

  
  
 

  
  
_If only I had the courage to do something,_ but came to his senses as the old man finished his speech and turned to Ron and Hermione.

  
  
 

  
  
“Do you, Ronald Bilius, take Hermione Jean to be your wife?”

  
  
 

  
  
Out of everyone in the group, Ron was the only one who Neville couldn’t see from the front. However, from the way that his dress robes quivered beneath him, Neville was sure that his legs were shaking from nerves, just as they always had before his Quidditch matches back at Hogwarts.

  
  
 

  
  
“I do,” he said, and Neville recalled him saying last night that he was grateful to only have a few things to memorize.

  
  
 

  
  
The old man turned to Hermione. “Do you, Hermione Jean, take Ronald Bilius to be your husband?”

  
  
 

  
  
Hermione, her hair straightened and pulled back like it had been during the Yule Ball all of those years ago, smiled.  _I remember when her teeth were bigger,_ thought Neville.  _I almost forgot that she changed them._

  
  
 

  
  
“I do,” she said, and Ron let out a sigh of relief that Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at.

  
  
 

  
  
The priest turned to the other couple.

  
  
 

  
  
“Do you, Harry James, take Ginevra Molly to be your wife?”

  
  
 

  
  
Harry Potter, wearing new glasses on his face and a white owl pin on his lapel, took Ginny’s hands. Neville noticed that his hair was calm and manageable for the first time in a long time, and wondered if he had used the same tonics that Hermione had used on her own.

  
  
 

  
  
“I do,” he said, smiling down at the blushing redhead.

  
  
 

  
  
“Do you, Ginevra Molly, take Harry James to be your husband?”

  
  
 

  
  
_She was my first date,_ Neville thought, once again sailing back to the Yule Ball, and the two of them dancing together.  _The first girl, hell, the first_ person _to ever make me feel confident about myself._

  
  
 

  
  
He dared another look at Luna, and saw a tear falling down her cheek.  _Maybe I_ do _have the courage…_

  
  
 

  
  
“I do,” said Ginny, positively beaming, and Harry squeezed her hand with a matching smile.

  
  
 

  
  
“Do you have the rings?” the priest asked, and the two women both raised their left hands. Harry and Ron took the engagement rings from their future brides and handed them to the priest.

  
  
 

  
  
“And your wands?”

  
  
 

  
  
“That’s our cue, mate,” George said, poking Neville in the arm with his elbow. Neville nodded and, reaching into his back pocket, pulled out his wand. George did the same, twirling it with a baton-like flourish as he did so. With the other hand, he reached into the priest’s wrinkled palm and took Ginny’s ring, gold with a green periodot jewel, from beside Hermione’s, which was silver with three small blue sapphires.

  
  
 

  
  
“On three?” Neville asked, and George nodded, pointing the tip of his wand at Hermione’s ring.

  
  
 

  
  
“One, two, three.  _Geminio_!”

  
  
 

  
  
Both rings split in their palms, becoming two pairs of identical rings.

  
  
 

  
  
“Now the tough part,” George whispered. “I’ll give you five Galleons if you turn Ginny’s into an onion ring.”

  
  
 

  
  
A few people seemed to overhear this conversation, as the two couples laughed, as did the Weasley and Granger parents in the front row.

  
  
 

  
  
“Yeah, not gonna happen,” Neville replied, tapping his wand to one of the rings, which turned into a plain gold band. Tapping the other, it Transfigured into a golden diamond ring, with a small periodot on each side.

  
  
 

  
  
“You’re no fun,” George snorted, and Transfigured his own rings into platinum, diamond, and sapphire that matched Neville’s. The two best men handed them to the couples and resumed their positions flanking the priest. The old man nodded to Ron, who turned back to Hermione and took her hand.

  
  
 

  
  
“With this ring,” he said, slipping it onto her finger, “I thee wed.”

  
  
 

  
  
“With this ring,” Hermione said, and Neville could hear the tears in the back of her voice, “I thee wed.”

  
  
 

  
  
The priest turned to Harry.

  
  
 

  
  
“With this ring,” Harry said, sliding it onto Ginny’s finger. “I thee wed.”

  
  
 

  
  
“With this ring,” Neville could see that Ginny’s fingers were trembling, “I thee wed.”

  
  
 

  
  
“With the exchange of rings,” the priest said to the two couples as Molly and Charlotte sniffed in the front row. “I declare you bonded for life. You may now kiss the brides.”

  
  
 

  
  
The audience roared in applause as Ron and Hermione kissed, and some laughed as Harry was practically knocked over by Ginny. Neville instinctively reached over and put his hand on Harry’s back to make sure he didn’t topple.

  
  
 

  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the priest said to the crowd, and Neville was amazed that the man didn’t need any _Sonorous_ charm despite his size and age. “I give you, for the first time, Ronald and Hermione Weasley, and Harry and Ginevra Potter!”

  
  
 

  
  
A whistle speared through the cheers, and Neville was sure, recognizing it from the Quidditch pitch all these years, that it had to be Seamus somewhere in the crowd. Along with that, there were a few nose blows, the largest one coming from Hagrid, whose huge head could be seen in the back row.

  
  
 

  
  
“Now,” the priest said, raising a wand of his own, “I can see that most of you are standing, but if the rest of you could rise…”

  
  
 

  
  
He flourished his wand, and the folded-up tents and tables lifted off the ground and, along with the wooden chairs, positioned themselves around the lawn of the Burrow.

  
  
 

  
  
The sun began to set in the west, and it was time for the party to start.

  
  
 

 


	13. Three Years Later: The Reception

  
Author's notes: The wedding is nice, but the reception is when things get interesting  


* * *

Three Years Later

The Reception

 

\---------

“Seriously, Lavender, you look great.”

 

Neville, taking a sip of his butterbeer, had to agree with Seamus. Considering how Lavender Brown looked after the Battle of Hogwarts, there were barely any noticeable marks on her face. Of course, in the light of the lamps that glowed on each table and around the edge of the Burrow’s lawn, it was difficult to see, but he still thought she looked well enough for someone who had been close to death.

 

Lavender looked around the table at the nine faces staring back at her, and her cheeks reddened, causing the remaining scars to become enhanced. “You don’t have to stare,” she said, dipping her head.

 

“We’re not staring,” said Ernie Macmillan, with Hannah Abbott shaking her head vigorously beside him.

 

“We were just worried about you, that’s all,” she said. “We had barely heard anything from you since the battle.”

 

“I think it’s a fine thing,” said Neville’s grandmother to Lavender. “You should wear them proudly. Not many can say they fought Fenrir Greyback and survived.”

 

“I didn’t, though,” Lavender said quietly. “I was unconscious. Hermione was the one that beat him. I just…”

 

At this she cut off, and tightened her hand around the front of her high-collared dress. Neville couldn’t see much poking out of the top, but he knew that the damage had to be much worse underneath.

 

“You’re alive,” said Parvati, putting her hand on her best friend’s shoulder. “You’re alive and you’re still human. That’s all that matters.”

 

“Have you talked to Bill?” Dean asked.

 

“Who’s Bill?”

 

“Ron’s brother,” Dean replied, pointing his thumb to another table, where Bill and Fleur Weasley were talking to Hermione’s uncle. “He’s been through the same thing you have. Got bit by a human Fenrir. Torn up pretty bad, actually. But he turned out okay. I lived with them for a few months, and he’s just fine.”

 

“I just feel ugly…” Lavender said, her voice choking. “And I get these thoughts sometimes…”

 

“But you’re not ugly,” Seamus insisted. “Seriously, you look fantastic. And about those thoughts, you really should talk to Bill. He’ll help you through it.”

 

“Okay,” Lavender whispered, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

 

“You weren’t the one to bring it up,” said Luna. “Seamus did. You can blame him.”

 

Seamus snorted laughter. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Luna.”

 

“Any time,” she said. “Are you going to finish your cake?”

 

“Have at it,” he said, pushing the cake across the table.

 

“Do you want me to introduce you to him?” Dean asked Lavender after swallowing a bite of his own cake.

 

“Maybe later,” she replied. “After I calm down a bit.”

 

“Ooh, ooh!” Padma Patil squealed, bouncing up and down in her seat. “First dance!”

 

Indeed, the band had finished tuning and started up a slow ballad. Harry and Ginny walked out onto the dance floor, with Ron and Hermione close behind. The two couples stopped in the middle, and began to dance.

 

“See that?” Parvati said, poking her twin sister. “ _Now_ they learn how to dance.”

 

“Guess they just needed the proper motivation,” Padma replied, taking a slug of Firewhisky. Neville couldn’t tell how much of her tone was sarcasm or how much was regret. They had been Harry and Ron’s dates to the Yule Ball, after all, and Neville could never figure out how much of it was through desperation on their part, or how much they regretted the experience.

 

“Guess they just needed to grow the hell up,” Lavender said, and the three girls giggled amongst themselves, a tone of vindictiveness in their laughter that made Neville remember the old Lavender Brown, along with that phrase about a woman scorned.

 

“Don’t they look just lovely, dear?” Gran asked Neville as the surrounding crowd applauded, and Arthur Weasley and Charlotte Granger walked onto the floor, followed by Molly and Daniel.

 

“Yeah,” he said. “They look great.”

 

“When are you going to find someone like that?” she asked. “I’d like to have some great-grandchildren someday.”

 

Neville blushed. “Trying my best, Gran,” he said, poking at the tart on his plate with his fork, trying as hard as he possibly could to not look at the blonde across the table from him.

 

The song ended, and half of the crowd applauded while the other half poured onto the dance floor. The table of former Hogwarts students exchanged awkward glances.

 

“We’re dancing, aren’t we?” asked Ernie nervously.

 

“Of course we are,” said Hannah, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the crowd.

 

“Lavender?” Seamus asked, extending his hand.

 

“Are you sure?” Lavender said, and Seamus shrugged.

 

“No better time to get your feet wet, eh?”

 

Dean looked at Parvati, who shrugged. “Let’s go,” she said, turning to her sister. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Padma said, waving her off with a raise of her Firewhisky.

 

“You need someone to dance with, Padma?” Seamus asked.

 

“I think I’m good here,” she replied.

 

“See, I know you’re lying,” he said, scanning around the edge of the dance floor. “Oi! Corner!” he boomed in his most carrying voice. “Get your arse over here! Padma wants to dance with you!”

 

“Oh, Merlin,” Padma said, her head dropping onto her hands. “Haven’t you ever heard of tact, Finnigan?”

 

“Sure, I have,” he said, smiling as Michael Corner walked to the group in a daze, as though he wasn’t even sure why he listened to Seamus in the first place. “It’s a kind of Belgian pastry, innit?”

 

“Something like that,” Padma said, shaking her head as she took Michael’s hand.

 

“Speaking of tact,” Seamus said, turning to Neville. “Ask the girl to dance, will you? The tension’s fucking killing me. Pardon my French, ma’am,” he added to Neville’s grandma.

 

“No apology needed, my boy,” Gran said, waving him off.

 

Neville blushed furiously, but turned to Luna. “Do you… do you want to dance?”

 

Luna nodded. “I would like to,” she said. “Do you?”

 

“Yeah,” Neville said, his throat tightening as the two stood up.

 

“Mr. Longbottom!” came a voice from the next table over that caused Neville’s blood to freeze. Whenever he heard Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts, speak in that tone, he instinctively tensed up.

 

“Hello, Professor,” he said as McGonagall approached.

 

“Please, Mr. Longbottom,” she replied. “You’re not one of my students any more, you can call me Minerva.”

 

“Then why are you still calling me ‘Mr. Longbottom’?”

 

“Touché,” she said. “Anyway… Neville… Now that the formalities of the evening have gone by the wayside, I would like to speak to you in private for a moment.”

 

Neville cleared his throat nervously, glancing at Luna. “Right… right now?”

 

“If it would not be too much of a bother,” McGonagall said. “It’s getting quite late, and I have much to do between now and the time the new term starts. After I speak to you I will be making my congratulations to the couples and then will be on my way.”

 

“Um, sure,” he said, turning to Luna. “Hold my place?”

 

“Of course,” Luna said, sitting back down with Mrs. Longbottom, who patted her kindly on the knee.

 

“Inside?” Minerva said, motioning Neville towards the Burrow.

 

“Yeah, inside should work,” he said, walking with her through the front door of the Weasleys’ house.

 

\---------

 

“The Wronski Feint is flawed!”

 

“The Wronski Feint is not flawed,” Viktor Krum replied. “It has vorked vith me for years.”

 

“See, and that’s just the problem,” said Gwenog Jones, leaning across the table. “It’s worked for years. When it’s unexpected, it’s one thing. But now that it’s become as popular as it has, it’s useless.”

 

“You are calling my move useless?” Krum said shortly.

 

“Not your move, though, is it?” Charlie Weasley said to him. “I mean, it’s the Wronski Feint, not the Krum Feint. But I agree with you, it’s a great move.”

 

“It’s telegraphed!” Gwenog cried out, nearly hitting her sister as she threw her arms out. “Sorry, Hessie.”

 

“Not a problem,” Hestia said, moving her ale closer to her to avoid spillage before turning her attention back to her own conversation. “What was that you were saying about your garden, Petunia?”

 

“Vat do you mean, ‘telegraphed’?” Krum continued, his hackles rising.

 

“It’s too obvious,” said Gwenog. “How often does a Seeker _really_ have to do a nosedive for the Snitch? Someone known for the Feint starts diving, and the Squib in the top row picking his nose could see ‘Oh, look, he’s pulling the Wronski Feint!’ Any opposing Seeker with his salt could see it coming from a mile away. Or if not, one well-placed Bludger from a sharp-eyed Beater, and you’re out of the picture.”

 

“Muggle fertilizer,” Pomona Sprout said, shaking her head at Petunia in disbelief. “Amazing what they can come up with if they have the right chemicals.”

 

“Chemicals are overrated,” Petunia Dursley said. “I prefer some of the natural fertilizers myself. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to find quality product unless you know someone who works in the farming industry.”

 

“Well, you have a compost pile, right?” Sprout asked. “I keep one in the greenhouses, works just as well as anything, especially after the mandrake harvest.”

 

“Mandrake?”

 

“Trust me,” Hestia said to Petunia, “You don’t want them in your garden. I remember Sprout teaching them second year when I was at Hogwarts.”

 

“Oh, right,” Sprout said, dropping her eyes. “That was the year I bought those faulty earmuffs. Half the class got dragged to the infirmary, didn’t they?”

 

“More or less.”

 

Pomona shook her head. “Last time I ever bought from that manufacturer.”

 

“Bloody freaks,” Vernon Dursley muttered under his breath, a bottle of Pepsi, the only thing in the place that he didn’t refuse to drink, rolling on the table between his hands. “We should have left an hour ago, but no, we all want to stay…”

 

“You’re joking!” Dudley Dursley said from Vernon’s other side. “They actually exist?”

 

“Ghosts?” said Susan Bones. “Of course they do!”

 

“Wow…”

 

“They’re all over Hogwarts,” she explained. “There’s one assigned to each House. We even have a poltergeist.”

 

“You mean like in _Ghostbusters_?”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“You don’t have films?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sorry,” Susan replied, but was smiling nonetheless.

 

“Ah, forget it,” Dudley said. “Every picture you lot have is a movie in itself. Was the poltergeist assigned to your House?”

 

Susan giggled. “He was a free agent, thankfully. I don’t think any common room would survive Peeves if he was a resident.”

 

“So what’s this House thing all about, anyway?” Dudley asked, his plate of food forgotten at his side. “How did they figure out who you were with?”

 

“Death Eater activity’s down, thankfully,” Kingsley Shacklebolt told Dedalus at the far end of the table. Two intimidating-looking Aurors, who appeared to be enough of a deterrent to anyone wishing to crowd the Minister of Magic, flanked him, their narrowed eyes scanning the tables. “I think they finally recognize that he’s gone for good this time. They’re starting to blend back into the rest of society, just like before.”

 

“Yeah, well, last time they ended up causing a riot at the World Cup even when they thought he was gone,” Diggle said. “You don’t think that’s going to happen again?”

 

“They might,” Kingsley shrugged. “And until it happens there’s not a lot we can do besides keep our ears to the ground. But this time’s different. With the Potters, his disappearance was a mystery, since no one was alive enough or old enough to tell the story. But there are witnesses now. Dozens. Hundreds. They saw the body. Saw the _Kedavra_. I think that’s helping.”

 

“Until someone else comes along…”

 

Kingsley sighed. “Someone always does. Thankfully, they’ll have to start from the ground up this time. Most of Voldemort’s followers are dead. Malfoy’s his closest living associate, and he’s gone a complete one-eighty in the past few years. Disappeared from high society, from what our reports are saying. He and his wife both.”

 

“You don’t think they’re planning anything, do you?”

 

“I doubt it. From what Harry said after the battle, Narcissa was the one who saved his life. Draco tried his best to save all three of them after Greyback and Lestrange got a hold of them. I think they’ve turned a new leaf.”  Kingsley paused to take a sip of his drink before continuing.  “The fact that Lucius has kept away from the Ministry is as good of a sign of that as any. He’s kept his money and his influence out of things.” 

 

“The Wronski Feint vorked for me in the Vorld Cup,” Krum insisted.

 

“Yeah, well, you lost the World Cup, so that doesn’t actually mean much in the end,” said Charlie, earning him a cross look from the former Triwizard Champion.

 

“Ve vere losing badly,” said Krum. “I vanted to end it to avoid humiliation.”

 

Gwenog shook her head. “No trust in your teammates…”

 

“I do trust my teammates.”

 

“Well, if you did, then you wouldn’t have done it, Viktor!” she exclaimed. “Merlin, I’d rather have my team go down in flames than lose the match on purpose. Not exactly a confidence boost to tell them that they had no chance.”

 

“But they didn’t…”

 

“You only lost by ten, Krum,” said Charlie, sucking the foam from his ale off his upper lip. “You don’t think you could have held the Irish Seeker off for two more goals?”

 

“That’s why the Schneeberg Spin will never work for you,” said Gwenog. “You have to rely on your teammates, and you can obviously never do that.”

 

“I have no idea what you people are talking about,” said Daniel Granger cheerily from Charlie’s side. “But it’s absolutely fascinating.”

 

“I vould like to pit my team against yours sometime, Jones,” Krum said to Gwenog. “See vich von is better.”

 

“I’d like that,” said Gwenog. “Something for charity? Off-season?”

 

Krum stared into her eye, his brow lowered. “You are serious?”

 

“I should take you to a cinema sometime,” said Dudley. “It might not be, you know, magic. But they can do cool stuff with computers nowadays.”

 

Susan shook her head. “You’re going to have to tell me what a computer is, too. I don’t know much about the Muggle world.”

 

“Yeah, I guess we both have some explaining to do,” Dudley sighed. “So you weren’t in Harry’s House?”

 

“No, he was Gryffindor, I was Hufflepuff.”

 

“Weird names.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Susan shrugged. “The founders had some odd names. But it’s been this way for over a thousand years.”

 

“Wow…”

 

“Yeah, we’re ancient,” Susan said, winking.

 

“So if you were in separate Houses, how do you know each other?”

 

“Our Houses shared some classes,” she explained. “Plus I was in the D.A.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Oh, I love this song!” Susan perked up as the band picked up its pace. “Come on, let’s dance!”

 

“I don’t dance…”

 

“Well, you have to learn eventually,” said Susan, taking his hand. “Come on!”

 

Dudley shrugged, and turned to Petunia. “Be back in a bit, Mum.”

 

“Have fun,” Petunia said absently, before turning back to Sprout. “So how do you handle your begonias?”

 

“Bloody ungrateful…” Vernon grumbled, earning him a cross-eyed look from Dedalus. “Disgracing the family name.”

 

Sprout leaned into Petunia and Hestia. “Unicorn urine,” she whispered, giggling. “Works like a charm. I could slip you some if you want, Tunie, I think you’re close enough to wizard blood where the Ministry would look the other way.”

 

“Fraternizing with these monstrosities… dancing with a bloody witch…”

 

“Oh for God’s sake, Vernon,” Petunia said, her patience fraying. “Does it matter?”

“It bloody well does matter!” Vernon Dursley yelled, exploding for the first time all night. “We spent twenty bloody years keeping Dudley away from these… these…  _wizards_ ,” his face contorted as he said the word. “And now this. This!”

 

Petunia looked around the table. She could practically hear the air brakes squeal as every conversation came to a complete stop. Thankfully the music was blaring too loudly out on the dance floor for any of the other tables to notice.

 

“Well, it ends right now,” said Vernon, standing. “I’ve put up with this for longer than I ever thought possible, and I am putting my foot down! Get Dudley, Petunia. We’re driving back to the hotel and taking the first flight back to the States. Then we’re selling the house and moving to Wisconsin and getting as get as far away from these people as possible!”

 

Petunia Dursley leaned back in her chair. “No,” she drawled, crossing her arms and giving Vernon a dark look.

 

Vernon glared at his wife in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

 

“I said no,” Petunia repeated slowly. “We’re not going anywhere.”

 

“Oh, I see how it is,” Vernon said, his face turning purple. “They’ve gotten to you, too. Turned you. Done their voodoo or whatever and made you think they’re not dangerous. Well, they haven’t gotten to me!”

 

“They haven’t _gotten to me_ ,” said Petunia. “And you’re drunk.”

 

“I haven’t had a drop of alcohol all night,” he growled. “Wouldn’t touch anything that this lot makes, anyway. Probably some potion that would turn me into a newt. Have to keep my wits about me anyway, make sure I don’t drop my guard around them.”

 

“You’re being paranoid, Vernon…”

 

“I’m being realistic!” Vernon yelled. “And you used to hate them, Petunia!  _Hate_ them!”

 

“Things have changed.”

 

“Why?” Vernon snorted. “Because they _saved our lives_? Bloody likely story. Effing con job is what it was.”

 

“A con job?” Petunia said, her eyebrow arched.

 

Charlie Weasley leaned back in his chair. “This should be entertaining.”

 

“Of course it was a con job!” Vernon roared. “To keep us quiet! To make us feel like our lives were in danger so we wouldn’t leak their story to the press!”

 

“So, a con job,” Hestia Jones said, her face pale, her hands tightened into fists. “And those Death Eaters that attacked us on the way to Heathrow? The ones we met in Milwaukee that Christmas? Figments of our imagination, were they?”

 

“They were sent by the government, of course, just like that lot,” Vernon said, pointing his chin at Kingsley’s bodyguards.

 

“And the Dementors?” Petunia asked. “The ones that attacked our Dudley?”

 

“We don’t know there were Defragmenters,” Vernon said. “The Boy’s the only person who claims to have seen them. Dudley even swore to us that The Boy did something to him! And you notice how he hasn’t been the same since then? Been a lot more friendly about The Boy. Probably had his brains scrambled because he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see.”

 

“Good Lord,” Dedalus breathed. “You’re insane…”

 

“Now you listen here, you little worm,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said, standing up to his full height. “I’ve listened to enough of your delusional rantings…”

 

“You can’t talk to me like that!” Vernon said, still surprisingly unintimidated.

 

“The Minister of Magic can say whatever he bloody well pleases,” said Dedalus. “And considering all the shite you called us in the year we were forced to protect your worthless ass, I think _little worm_ is just scratching the surface.”

 

“I lost the best Auror the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has ever known while saving you and Harry from Privet Drive,” Kingsley continued unabated. “Voldemort, the man who we were protecting you from, killed Harry’s parents. His followers drove the best man’s parents insane. Killed Harry’s godfather, killed George Weasley’s twin brother.”

 

“Bloody well had it coming,” Vernon mumbled, but Kingsley’s long finger whipped out, pointing to Dudley and Susan, who were now standing off to the side, their arms linked, taking in the entire scene, along with a few others from the dance floor.

 

“That girl,” he said, “lost her aunt, one of the greatest judges that any government has ever known, magical or Muggle. Lost her uncle and his entire family in the first war. All killed personally by Voldemort. The boy who you saw at the wedding? The one with the colored hair? His father. His mother. His grandfather. All dead because of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

 

“We lost over fifty people in the final battle,” Kingsley growled, now an inch from Vernon’s considerable gut. “Men, women, and children. All fighting to protect you and the rest of the Muggle world. All fighting for your nephew. And I will _not_ sit here and listen to you belittle their memory with your babbling hatred.”

 

“My nephew,” Vernon sneered, turning away from Kingsley to Petunia. “The Boy. It always comes back to The Boy. I knew this was going to happen. I knew he was going to turn out like this. Should have drowned him in the bathtub the day he showed up on our doorstep. Marge’s right, you know, and I knew it from the moment your sister spit him out: If there’s something wrong with the bitch, then there’s something wrong with the pup!”

 

Before she even knew it happened, Petunia’s hand flashed out and smacked Vernon’s face. The gasps from the surrounding guests were louder than she expected, but she barely noticed that more of the surrounding tables were now turned in their direction.

 

“Don’t… you… _ever_ speak of Lily that way in front of me,” she growled, her eyes flaming.

 

“Why not?” Vernon said, his hand rubbing his cheek. “You did all the time. Called her a freak, remember? You hated her, were glad to be rid of her.”

 

“I was jealous of her,” Petunia said, discovering that it was the truth as it came from her mouth. “I wished I could have had the power that she had.”

 

“You’re joking…”

 

“I wrote a letter to Hogwarts,” she admitted triumphantly. “Begging Dumbledore to let me enroll. Hoping that I was a witch because Lily was, hoping that my power just hadn’t come out yet.”

 

“Petunia…”

 

“I reacted badly when I found out I was just a Muggle,” she said, looking between Vernon and Dudley, asking understanding of one and begging forgiveness of the other. “I called her so many horrible things on the Platform that day. I guess we never really patched things up after that. To this day I wish that I had… maybe she’d still be here if I had. But I’m proud of her. And proud of her son.”

 

Vernon stared dumbly at her, his face contorted. “You’re just like them…”

 

“Go back to the hotel, if you like,” Petunia said firmly. “I’m going to congratulate my nephew and his new wife. And then I’m going to stay and enjoy my time with my friends.”

 

“And how are you going to get back?”

 

“Oh, I can Apparate her,” Hestia said, grinning at Vernon with a look of triumph. “Gladly.”

 

“I’ll take Dudley later,” Susan said quietly, “If you want to stay, that is.”

 

“Of course I want to stay…” Dudley said, turning to Vernon. “Sorry, Dad.”

 

“Insolent, no good, ungrateful…” Vernon muttered. But Petunia was gone. And Dudley and Susan had also disappeared. The only people who still seemed to be paying attention to him were the witches and wizards at the table.

 

“Don’t you look at me like that,” he said threateningly to their stony glares. “I can feel you, you know. Trying to make me one of you, just like you did to my wife and son. Feel your eyes burning. What are you going to do? Make me grow a tail? Slice my sodding ear off?”

 

He turned to Kingsley Shacklebolt, stepping as close as his gut could allow. “Well, I’ll tell you what, _Minister_. I’ve had enough. I’m going to tell the world about you. You and your kind, all the monsters and demons that you spawn. I’m going to the press, you hear me?”

 

“No,” Kingsley said calmly. “You’re not.”

 

“What are you going to do, kill me?” Vernon snorted. “Erase my memory? My family will still remember me.  Erase my family’s memory?  Erase The Boy’s memory?  The way you all fawn over that twit I doubt you have the stones. You’re over, mate. You’re through.”

 

 And with that, Vernon Dursley turned on his heel and walked toward the front gate. The two Aurors framing Minister Shacklebolt both drew their wands and prepared to follow him, but Kingsley raised his hand.

 

“Don’t wipe his memory,” he said.

 

“But, sir…”

 

Kingsley motioned the Auror to him, until his lips were practically touching his ear. “Shallow cuts, Savage,” he muttered. “Shallow cuts.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Make him forget his need to talk to the press,” Kingsley explained as the band started playing again and the guests decided it was the end of the scene. “But don’t make him forget the fear. We don’t have to have him forget us, just so long as his paranoia still exists. If he thinks his life is in danger, he won’t go on.”

 

Savage nodded. “Yes sir.”

 

“Let him remember everything else,” Kingsley continued, looking around as Dudley Dursley sat down at a corner table with Susan Bones, and as Petunia Dursley, wiping her eyes, strode to the main table, where Harry and Ginny Potter sat with shocked, yet expectant, faces. “Let him remember everything his family said to him today. It’s not something he deserves to forget.”

 

\---------

 

“Thank you very much,” the wedding singer said to the politely applauding crowd. “We’re going to take a little break, get ourselves a little nosh, but we’ll be back soon enough.” 

 

“I apologize for the outburst, Harry,” Petunia Dursley said as the band pulled their guitars and accordions from around their necks and took a walk to the kitchen tent. “I knew Vernon was having difficulty with all of this. I just didn’t realize how much.” 

 

”It’s fine, really,” replied Harry, his voice still betraying the shock of not only the argument that had occurred (his eyes kept unconsciously glancing over to the table, even though all three Dursleys were now elsewhere), but of Petunia’s new stance towards him. _I don’t remember the last time she called me by my name,_ he wondered as he adjusted a slumbering Teddy Lupin on his shoulder. 

 

“Are you two going to be okay?” Hermione asked. “I hope we didn’t…” 

 

Petunia shrugged. “We’ve had fights before,” she said. “He’s a brick wall. I suppose that’s why I married him in the first place.” 

 

“Well… just be careful, alright?” said Ron, also trying to come to terms with the new and improved Petunia Dursley. “He was sounding right scary for a bit there.” 

 

Petunia gave Ron a glance that still said the old one wasn’t completely dead. “I still know how to take care of myself, young man,” she sniffed. 

 

“No one’s doubting that, Aunt Petunia,” Harry laughed. “Believe me.” 

 

“We really do appreciate you coming, though,” said Ginny from beside Harry. “We didn’t think you’d want to make a flight.” 

 

“Well, Dudley insisted, and…” Petunia paused. Sighed. Shook her head. “Oh, Harry… Lily would be so proud of you.” 

 

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly, and Ginny squeezed his free hand. 

 

“From everything that Gwen’s been saying it sounds like you picked the right one for Mrs. Potter.” 

 

Ginny smiled. “I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing that,” she said, bumping Harry playfully with her shoulder. “But thank you.” 

 

“And I hope I was able to help you figure out the situation with your family?” Petunia asked Hermione. 

 

“Absolutely,” she replied. “We toed the line as well as we could. We were actually able to get more of them here than I expected.” 

 

“Harry!” 

 

The group turned to see Neville quickstepping across to the table. “Have you seen Luna?” he asked. 

 

“Did she wander off again?” Ron said. “I told you we should keep a bell on her.” 

 

“I think she was over at Flitwick’s table,” said Hermione, looking around the lawn. “Talking with my mum.” 

 

“Okay, thanks,” Neville nodded, and started to walk off, but Harry stopped him. 

 

“Neville!” he said, grabbing his arm. “I want to introduce you to my aunt.” 

 

Neville looked at Petunia blankly for a moment, as if his mind were somewhere else, then clicked back to reality. “Oh!” he said, giving a nervous glance to Harry. “Your aunt?” 

 

“Petunia, I’d like to introduce you to Neville Longbottom,” Harry said. “Best Man and Snake-Slicer Extraordinaire.” 

 

“Ummm… a pleasure,” Petunia replied, now looking uncomfortable herself as she held out her hand. “ _Snake-Slicer_?” 

 

“Long story,” Neville shrugged. “Harry hasn’t told you about the Horcruxes?” 

 

“I haven’t been told much of anything,” Petunia replied. “Haven’t really _wanted_ to be told much before recently.” 

 

“We do have a lot of catching up to do,” Harry nodded. “I’d introduce you to my cousin, Dudley, but he appears to be busy. That’s him over there with Susan.” 

 

Harry pointed to a table on the other side of the dance floor that caused Neville to do a double take. Harry’s demon cousin, holding hands with Susan _Bones_? 

 

“Yeeeeah, it’s weirding me out, too,” Ron admitted. 

 

“I think they’re kind of cute together,” said Ginny, craning her neck. 

 

“How about your uncle?” Neville asked Harry. “Where’s he at?” 

 

The five stared back at him, their mouths slightly agape. “You… you didn’t hear the show?” Ron asked. 

 

“When?” 

 

“Five or ten minutes ago?” 

 

“I was in the house,” said Neville. 

 

“Oh, really?” Ginny said playfully, her eyebrow arched. “Who with? You didn’t lose Luna already, did you?” 

 

“Ummm… no one,” Neville said, his face turning pink. “I should… I should go. Nice meeting you.” And he was gone, heading toward Flitwick’s table. 

 

“He seems like a decent boy,” Petunia said as Neville walked away. 

 

“He really is,” Harry said. “Better than this bloke, anyway.” 

 

“And the horse you rode in on, Potter,” Ron snorted, smacking Harry’s extended thumb away from his face. 

 

“And who’s this, then?” Petunia asked of the boy on Harry’s shoulder. 

 

“Oh, this is Teddy,” Harry said, and the child, who apparently wasn’t completely asleep yet, looked up at his name, his hair turning pink as he did. “Teddy, this is my Aunt Petunia. Like the flower.” 

 

Petunia studied Teddy as he gave her a sleepy wave, and then cast an awkward glance at Harry and Ginny. “He’s not… I mean, you two didn’t…”

 

“What, ours?” Ginny said as Harry blushed furiously. “No, he’s Harry’s godson.” 

 

“ _Our_ godson, now,” Harry corrected, and Ginny grinned wide. “No, his parents… um… well, they’re a bit of a long story, too.” 

 

“We do have a lot of catching up to do,” Petunia said, a small, genuine smile crossing her face for the first time that Harry could ever remember. “And I expect to hear everything.” 

 

“You will,” Harry said. “There’s a lot to say. A lot to tell you. About Professor Snape, for one…” 

 

“Snape?” Petunia asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Where have I… Good Lord… You don’t mean _Sev_?” 

 

\---------

 

“She’s fascinating,” Horace Slughorn said in an awed voice. “Absolutely fascinating.” 

 

“And you don’t remember anything?” asked Cho Chang. “About her birth?” 

 

“Not… well… it’s complicated, I guess,” said Charlotte Granger, her daughter sitting on her lap. Like Teddy, Hermione Caroline Granger was about five minutes away from bedtime, her head resting on her mother’s shoulder. “I can sort of remember it. Like it was a dream… if that makes sense.” 

 

“It makes perfect sense,” said Filius Flitwick. “It’s all about the subconscious. Temporary memory modification doesn’t happen very often, so it’s not as studied as permanent, but I suppose you could argue that, if your false memory was layered on top of your true self, then that true self becomes a second subconscious. Taking in information and storing it even when we don’t recognize it.” 

 

“It is instinct,” said the calm voice of Firenze the centaur from behind her. “The unconscious mind can only do so much. But it is her instinct that is what was behind her memories. Hermione is her daughter. It does not matter whether she remembers the birth or feels as though she dreamt it. You knew she was yours from the moment you awoke, did you not, Charlotte Granger?” 

 

“I did,” said Charlotte, gently running her hand across her daughter’s blond hair. “I knew she was mine, and I loved her like she was mine. And that’s all that really matters, even if I don’t have a crystal clear memory of the painful parts.” 

 

“I would like to interview you sometime, if you wouldn’t mind, Mrs. Granger,” Flitwick continued, jumping up on top of his chair as he leaned on the table. “You and your husband both. For scholarly work, of course. I’ve been doing some research on Memory Charms, and I would love to have you two tell me about your experience. What you remembered, what you _still_ remember, that kind of thing.” 

 

“I don’t think that would be an issue,” said Charlotte. “Would we be of much help?” 

 

“Of course you would!” Flitwick exclaimed. “As I said, temporary memory charms are rarely used nowadays. Most of the time when people need modification it’s on a permanent basis. And when it comes to Muggles, it’s practically unheard of, there’s no reason for a Muggle to ever need to remember us again. I would like to see if there are any differences in brain reaction, memory load, that sort of thing.” 

 

“Not anything, umm… invasive, is it?” 

 

“No, not at all,” Flitwick said, waving his hand. “No, perhaps some hypnosis, but otherwise just interviews and possibly some memory tests.” 

 

“Professor Flitwick?” the boy asked from behind Filius.

 

“Oh, Neville!” Flitwick said, spinning around and vigorously shaking Neville’s hand. “I wasn’t able to see you earlier, congratulations!” 

 

“Ummm,” Neville said, clearing his throat. “I haven’t… um… Have you seen Luna Lovegood?” 

 

“She was just here a minute ago,” Flitwick replied. “But I think she went over to speak with her father.” 

 

Neville looked around. “Where is he? I haven’t met him.” 

 

“Over at the table where Hagrid’s head’s poking out,” Penelope Clearwater, sitting at the table beside Percy Weasley, said. “You can’t miss it.” 

 

“Thanks,” he said, disappearing into the crowd. 

 

The two silent members of the table finally broke theirs. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us this,” said Helen Wainwright, Daniel Granger’s sister. “I mean, we were worried sick about you two, disappearing off to wherever!” 

 

“I know, Helen,” Charlotte pleaded. “And I’m sorry. But we couldn’t tell you. We weren’t sure of what the laws were regarding all of this before a few months ago, so I wasn’t comfortable telling you that _we_ could barely remember where we were.” 

 

“Weren’t you angry, though?” asked Elizabeth Wainwright from beside her mother. “Having a year of your life taken away like that?” 

 

“Well, I won’t lie to you,” said Charlotte. “We were a little upset when we woke up on a different continent. But then we learned about what had happened. Learned about Hermione Caroline. And, more importantly, we learned about the stakes. About everyone who had died, and about why Hermione did what she did for us.” 

 

“So you were fine with it?” 

 

Charlotte Granger shook her head, at a loss for a proper explanation. “I guess there just weren’t any easy answers. She made the best choice that she could, for us and for her.” 

 

\---------

 

"So, you see, my prediction did come true eventually," said Sybill Trelawney.  "The boy _did_ die." 

  

"Yeah, well, yeh predicted everybody's death at some point or 'nother," Hagrid snorted.  "Process o' elimination, innit?" 

  

"But the boy had The Grim," Trelawney retorted, nodding her head knowingly.  "Yes, he was marked for a long time with that monster." 

  

"I thought the Grim was just Mr. Black," Luna asked Hagrid, who just shook his head in weary frustration. 

  

"The whole Grim fascination is balderdash, anyway," said Xenophilius Lovegood, taking a sip of his Firewhisky.  "There's nothing wrong with Grims.  They're on the side of Light.  The side of the Hunters." 

  

"The what?" Hagrid asked skeptically. 

  

"The Hunters, Mr. Hagrid, the Hunters," Xeno said as though he were explaining the obvious.  "The Vampire Hunters.  They find out who the shadowy creatures' next victims are, and send their Grims to survey the target until the vampires are ready to strike.  It's all a part of the Rotfang Conspiracy.  I have some literature I could loan you, it's fascinating reading." 

  

"Right," said Hagrid, eyeing Mr. Lovegood warily.  "I...  um...  I'm not much of a reader.  But...  I'll take yer word fer it." 

  

 "Luna?" 

  

"Oh, hello, Neville," Luna said as Neville Longbottom approached.  His hands were clasped in front of him, twisting nervously.  His eyes were having difficulty meeting hers. 

  

"Can we talk?" he asked. 

  

"Of course," said Luna.  "Do you still want to dance?" 

  

"Right now?" 

  

"Of course," Luna repeated. 

  

"But..." Neville looked toward the empty stage.  "The band's off somewhere." 

  

"That's nice," Luna said.  "Would you like to dance?" 

  

"I want to," said Neville.  "When there's music." 

  

"There is music, don't you hear it?" she said, standing and taking his hand.  "Come on." 

  

Neville, more frazzled than ever, followed Luna onto the empty dance floor.

 

“Could we, I don’t know, dance somewhere a little more private?” he asked. He knew that most of the guests were involved in their own conversations, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like all eyes were on them.

 

“We could,” said Luna, “But this is a dance floor. It is where dancing happens.”

 

“Right…” Neville said, his face turning pink.

 

“Besides,” Luna continued, placing her hands comfortably on his shoulders. “The only private area that I know of was taken over by Seamus and Lavender soon after you left.”

 

“Really?”

 

“They’re getting her feet wet,” Luna explained. “Which I guess involves putting her tongue in his mouth.”

 

“Yeah,” Neville said, suddenly blushing more than he thought possible. “I guess that’s an interesting way of doing it.”

 

“Are we dancing?” asked Luna. “Because your hands aren’t on my waist.”

 

“Oh!” Neville said, his hands flipping out and barely touching her hips. “What are we dancing to?”

 

“What song is in your head?”

 

Neville thought hard. “Some rock song,” he said. “By Unicorn Union.”

 

“Hmmm…” Luna thought out loud. “I have Merlin and the Pants in mine. American Bluegrass. This should be interesting.”

 

And it seemed to work out okay, despite the fact that Neville was spending most of his time trying to remember the dance steps he hadn’t had to use since the Yule Ball, while all the while trying desperately to either look Luna in the eye or to avoid her penetrating gaze. A few people noticed them dancing but, since most of them knew Luna or the Lovegoods, they didn’t find it odd in the least that she was doing it without any music, and went back about their business.

 

“So you wanted to speak with me?” Luna asked after a few minutes.

 

Neville found himself in one of those moments where he couldn’t look away, but pulled himself back to reality. “Yeah,” he stammered. “Yeah, I did.”

 

“About more than what song we’re dancing to?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“That’s good,” said Luna. “Although I should mention that The Pants aren’t in my head anymore. It’s Cecelia Cintel now.”

 

“The opera singer?”

 

“Yes,” Luna said. “I hope it didn’t throw off your rhythm.”

 

“My rhythm’s just about shot,” Neville said, smiling nervously, and then taking the plunge.

 

“I got a job offer.”

 

“Really?” Luna asked, her a rare glimmer of excitement showing through her misty eyes. “Something better than you’re in now?”

 

“A little bit, yeah,” Neville said, wishing he could look away.

 

“Where did the offer come from?”

 

“Hogwarts,” Neville said. “Pomona’s retiring, and Professor…. Minerva asked if I wanted to be the new Herbology professor.”

 

“Neville, that’s wonderful,” said Luna. “You would be a good teacher. I have known it since the D.A., you were always so much better giving the lessons than Ginny and I were.”

 

“Thank you,” Neville said. “McGonagall said that Sprout would stay around to help me get used to things, on an interim basis, I mean. Get a syllabus set up, equipment in order, all of that. I’d actually be using her lesson plans until I’m comfortable enough to tweak it. But McGonagall says that she’s looking to retire soon herself, so if I wanted a chance, this would be the time, before I had to fight my way into the good graces of a new Headmaster.”

 

“So you’re starting right away?” asked Luna. “Classes start in a month and a half, you need that much time to get everything together.”

 

“I’d be speaking to one or two of the late-coming Muggle-borns, too,” said Neville. “Like Hagrid did with Harry and McGonagall did with Hermione. But this is all still ‘if.’ I haven’t accepted the offer yet, although McGonagall said that she can’t wait more than a few days. But I wanted to talk to you first.”

 

Luna smiled. “Well, I have already given you my opinion, Neville. I think you would make a wonderful Professor.”

 

“It’s not just that,” Neville said, suddenly wishing he had a glass of water handy. Hell, if he didn’t have his hands on Luna’s hips he’d be reaching for his wand and casting an _Aguamenti_ ; not just for his throat, but for his entire face, which seemed to be on fire.

 

_Oh, just do it!_

 

“How do you feel about me, Luna?” he blurted. “Be honest. I need honesty.”

 

As they circled the empty dance floor to the tune of quiet conversation and the Unicorn Union song that seemed to have disappeared from his mind, Neville was expecting Luna to wait a few moments. Collect her thoughts; come up with nice ways of saying things.

 

But, of course, this was Luna. She didn’t need to collect her thoughts, because they were always right there on the tip of her tongue.

 

“I like you very much, Neville,” she said almost as soon as he finished speaking. “I like all of my friends, but I like you more than I like the others. You are always so nice, and you have never made fun of me or looked at me as though I was stupid or didn’t know what I was talking about. You are very smart and very strong and very, very brave. You are very pretty, or handsome, or whatever term you would like me to use, and ever since the early meetings of the D.A. I have had hormonal impulses whenever I see you. I think of you at least five nights a week when I masturbate, and I have always wondered what it would be like to kiss you or to have intercourse with you. I think you would make a great husband and a great father and I hope that I when I get married it is to someone as kind and as brave and as attractive as you, if not you specifically.”

 

Neville wondered for a few seconds why Luna was moving around so much in front of him. Then he realized it was because his feet had stopped moving beneath him, like they had been cast in cement; Luna, meanwhile, was continuing to dance as though nothing had happened.

 

“Wow,” he breathed, forcing himself to move again. “That’s… umm… wow…”

 

“Did you want me to be less honest?” Luna asked.

 

“No,” said Neville. “Although I have to admit that some of it threw me a bit. But that’s one of the reasons I love you, you don’t sugar-coat.”

 

“I did not think I was sugar-coating anything,” Luna said. “Sugar-coating implies that I have bad things to say, and… did you just say you love me?”

 

Neville nodded, and his dry throat clicked as he swallowed. “I did, yeah.”

 

“It is nice that you have been able to define it with me, Neville,” said Luna, and Neville noticed her cheeks flushing, which is something that almost never happened through that calm exterior. “I have not been able to define it myself, since there really is no definition for love. But I believe that all of my feelings for you are love, as well.”

 

“Really?” Neville said, smiling despite himself as Luna nodded.

 

“And is this what you wished to speak to me about?” Luna asked, her hands still resting on his shoulders.

 

“I needed to know,” said Neville. “Because, well, it complicates things.”

 

“I have heard that love is always complicated.”

 

“Hogwarts is a big commitment,” said Neville. “A bigger commitment than almost any job in the country. If I took this position, and we were together, we would barely see each other. A few weekends during the year. A month, month and a half during the summer. No Christmas, no Easter, unless the Headmaster that replaces McGonagall in two or three years would allow visitors during those times. Otherwise the school is too big, the job’s too important, for the dozen or so professors to leave the students unattended or unguarded for even a night.”

 

“I understand,” said Luna. Neville noticed in his peripheral vision that the band was returning to the stage, but he didn’t really care if they were giving the couple funny looks.

 

“I’ll turn the job down in a heartbeat,” he continued, “if you want to be with me. If you want to make a go of whatever it is that we have, then I want that. Hogwarts would be great, but if it meant not having you in my life, then I’d rather stay at the shop in Hogsmeade.”

 

“Neville, you would not be happy selling potion ingredients for the rest of your life.”

 

“But we’d be together…”

 

“We could be together if you were working at Hogwarts.”

 

“We would barely see each other…”

 

“And if you turned down this job, and then we decided that things did not work out between us?” Luna asked. “That is a real possibility; it unfortunately happens far too often in this world when people go into life without thinking clearly. Would you be any happier if the next Headmaster decided you were not qualified, and you had to work at the potions shop without me in your life?”

 

“Luna…”

 

“Neville, if you would please listen to my proposition,” Luna said in a forceful tone that was so unlike her, yet so… “This is both of our lives we are speaking of now, and I think things should be talked through. I have heard your offer: be with you or leave you to Hogwarts. But I do not think this is an either or equation. There are many other opportunities beyond the two.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Why could we not have both?” asked Luna. “If you work at Hogwarts, there will no one else significant in your life, unless you decide to date another Professor or a student. And I have never been popular, so the prospects of me being with someone else in that time are very slim. And even if someone did come along, I would not care for them as much as I care for you.”

 

“Thank you,” Neville said despite himself, but Luna continued.

 

“I do not see why we could not be together while you work at Hogwarts,” she said. “We will be able to write to each other. We will be able to be with each other on the occasional weekend, and during the summer months. The Floo Network is open, so we will be able to speak to each other if we wish. And it is not a permanent position. If we decide later that we wish to become husband and wife, or you wish to have children with me and want to be with them, then we could decide from there what your career options are.”

 

Neville shook his head, smiling. “Ravenclaws,” he said. “Always the logical ones…”

 

“ _Wit beyond measure_ ,” said Luna, and Neville realized that she was closer to him now, her arms now around his chest. Somehow without him knowing it, he had slipped his own arms around her waist, and their entire lengths were touching as they danced.

 

“And you’d be okay with that?” asked Neville. “Knowing that your boyfriend was somewhere else, and that you’d be spending almost all of your time without me?”

 

“I have been alone for most of my life,” said Luna. “Besides, I have Harry and Ginny and Ron and Hermione to keep me company if I feel too lonely. And I will be happy knowing that, even if you are not there all the time, I am not alone anymore.”

 

Neville leaned down to her. He thought her hair smelled like the ocean.

 

And then he was lost.

 

\---------

 

“Well, would you look at that?” said Ginny Potter, poking Harry as Neville Longbottom kissed Luna Lovegood in the middle of the dance floor.

 

“About bloody time, too,” said Ron, his new wife resting against his chest. “I don’t know how those two went so long without doing anything.”

 

“No kidding,” said Hermione. “I’ve been waiting for them to kiss and get it over with, we all knew they wanted to for years.”

 

Harry looked at the Weasleys patronizingly. “Okay, so let’s do some math,” he said. “Neville and Luna met in 1995. It’s now 2001. You two met in ’91, didn’t start dating until ’98.”

 

“Yeah, well, this is different!” said Ron, pointing to the two, who had broken the kiss and were now dancing to actual music as the band began to play and other couples streamed onto the dance floor.

 

“How’s that?” asked Ginny. “Because they only waited six years instead of seven?”

 

“No, it’s not because of that,” said Ron. “It’s just because it’s… you know… it’s different…”

 

“Thanks for clearing that up.”

 

“We at least kissed in the same millennium,” Hermione said defensively as the guests at their table stood up in pairs and walked out to the floor: Molly and Arthur Weasley, Lee Jordan and Katie Bell, Andromeda Tonks accepting the arm of Geoffrey Banks, Hermione’s grandfather. Across the lawn, Harry recognized other couples making their way to the throng: Dudley Dursley and Susan Bones, Seamus and Lavender, Hannah and Ernie, Percy and Penelope. Hermione’s aunts and uncles, along with her parents, now that Charlotte had brought Hermione Caroline into the Burrow to sleep along with Teddy Lupin. Hermione’s cousins each seemed to have found a random Hogwarts student or Weasley relative (Gretchen was dancing with Terry Boot, he noticed, and Elizabeth was with Dean).

 

“You all think you’re gonna sit on your arses and laugh at us dance badly, are you?” said George, Verity DeVine on his arm. “Stand up before your legs fall off from lack of use. Join the humiliation.”

 

“What do you think, Mrs. Weasley?” Ron asked Hermione. “Shall we cut some rug?”

 

“Just don’t step on my feet this time, okay?” Hermione said jokingly, and she stood up and looked expectantly at the others.

 

Harry stood and smiled at Ginny. “Mrs. Potter?”

 

“I mentioned I’m never going to get sick of hearing that, right?” Ginny replied, taking her husband’s arm and walking behind their friends into the dancing crowd.

 


	14. Forty-two Months Later: Muggle Charms

Forty-Two Months Later:

Muggle Charms

 

 

 

_  
_ “Well, this can’t be right.”

“This was the address that he put in his note,” Dudley replied, setting down his suitcase on the shoveled walk next to his mother’s. He pulled the scrap of paper out of his pocket. “ _The home of Harry and Ginny Potter may be found at Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London_. 

Petunia walked up and down the row of houses. “Nine, ten,” she read on each door, “eleven, thirteen. There’s no twelve!”

“Is it on the other side?” Dudley said, turning around and squinting at the houses across the street. 

“I don’t believe this,” Petunia Evans huffed, leaning against the car. “He gave us the wrong address! Like this is some kind of joke!”

“He wouldn’t joke around with you,” said Dudley, peering carefully at the note. “I mean, not after…” 

_Not after the divorce,_ he was going to say, but cut himself off. He knew as well as anyone that, after the events of the Potter/Weasley double wedding, things had strained between his parents to the point where his father and mother decided that they would be better off separated. And he knew that his mum was, for the most part, happy to have Vernon out of her life, now that their views of the world and her family had changed so much. And from the few times Dudley had spoken to his father before he and Petunia left the States for the last time, the feeling was more than mutual.

But he still didn’t like bringing it up if he could help it, even if it was the reason that they standing here in the January chill, aimlessly searching for a house that apparently didn’t exist. As a car pulled up along the side of the road in front of their vehicle, he wondered why Harry would do something like this, unless he was feeling some sort of long-repressed vengeful streak toward the family who made his life miserable. 

“Excuse me,” said Petunia shortly as a small, balding man pulled himself from the car’s driver’s seat. “This is Grimmauld Place, correct?”

“That’s right, yeah,” said the driver as he walked around to the other side, being careful not to slip in the slush as he pulled the passenger door open. 

“And do you know where number twelve is?”

“Number twelve?” the man said, shaking his head patronizingly as he pulled out a bag of groceries. “There is no number twelve. Never has been.” 

“There’s not?”

“Yeah, it’s weird, really,” the man said, walking up to them. “Guess when they built this place God-knows-when ago, someone must have been right schnockered on the job, forgot to write the number down on some piece of paper, and didn’t want to correct himself in front of whoever was in charge of setting the neighborhood up. So, no, never has been a twelve.” 

“But it says it right here on the paper,” Dudley insisted.

“You sure it’s not a two or a twenty-two?” the man suggested. “Quigley’s live in number two, nice folks, them, and old lady Grint lives in twenty-two, a bit of a cat fiend but loves her afternoon stories.” 

“No, we’re not looking for them,” said Dudley.

“Do you know a Potter?” asked Petunia. “Harry? Ginny? Ginevra?” 

The man pursed his lips, and then shook his head. “Nope, can’t say as I do.” He adjusted the bags on his arms and gave them a nod. “Good luck with your search.”

“The nerve,” Petunia sniffed as the man walked up the stairs to number eleven. “Do you have his number on your telephone?” 

“My cell phone?” Dudley pulled it out of his pocket (he didn’t have a job lined up yet, but he still kept it with him out of habit) and flipped it open, knowing the answer before he even looked. “No, he hasn’t given me one. I don’t even know if he has a number.”

“How could anyone not have a telephone number?” Petunia said, shaking her head as she stared between eleven and thirteen. “I just can’t… ahh!!” 

One minute it was a blank wall. The next minute Petunia’s nephew, Dudley’s cousin, was hurrying towards them, carrying a small wooden box at his side.

“Harry!” Petunia gasped. “Where did you…?” 

“Sorry about the wait,” said Harry. “Kreacher said you were here, but I couldn’t get off the front step until Mr. Douglas was gone. Get in the car for a minute, would you? I need to give you something, and I can’t do it in the open.”

Too shocked at Harry’s sudden appearance to question or protest, Dudley and Petunia climbed into the back seat of the Dursleys’ car, and Harry climbed into the front, turning around to face them. 

“Okay, before we do this,” Harry said seriously. “I need to make sure you two are both on board with this. Anything you see or do from this point on stays in the strictest confidence. I could get into a lot of trouble if I give these to you and you decide to start blaring information about the magic world around, and you might find yourselves not remembering your own names.”

“I’m in, Harry,” said Dudley quickly. “Whatever it takes.” 

Harry turned to Petunia and raised his eyebrows, awaiting an answer.

“You’re making this sound very serious, Harry,” said Petunia doubtfully. “We’re not… putting ourselves in any danger, are we?”

“Aunt Petunia, I trust you,” said Harry. “You went ten years without telling me about the magic world, and years after that avoiding the subject around me even after I found out. I trust you to know that you won’t tell anyone else, but I need to make sure anyway.” 

Aunt Petunia hesitated once more.  _Feels like I’m making a deal with the Devil,_ she thought before realizing that that was Vernon talking more than anything. She quashed it quickly, and nodded. “Your secret’s safe, Harry,” she said.

“Alright, then,” said Harry, opening the case to them. 

“You probably had one of these at one point, Aunt Petunia,” Harry explained as she and Dudley stared down into the purple-silk lined box, in which lay two golden chains with a simple crystal on the end of each.

“I did,” Petunia breathed. “When Lily became a witch, my parents and I each received one. I still have it, in a box somewhere in the attic. Do you think it still works?” 

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” said Harry. “Its magic probably wore out a long time ago, they need to be recharged every year. I figured you’d need a new one, so I put in an order when Hermione put in for the rest of her family.”

“What are they?” asked Dudley, completely at a loss during this exchange. 

“Muggle Charms, I think she called them?” Petunia asked, and Harry nodded in confirmation.

“They’re passports, for lack of a better description,” Harry explained. “There are areas of this world where wizards and witches live, work, shop, whatever, that can’t be accessed by Muggles. The barriers are set so only those with magic in their body, their blood, can pass through. Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, St. Mungo’s, those types of areas. Even Squibs, who are wizard-born that don’t have any power, still have enough magic in them to pass through to these places. But most Muggles have none. 

“Muggle Charms change that,” he continued. “You put these on, and they infuse you with a minimal amount of magic. Enough to pass through most of the barriers set in our world.”

“The woman who came to speak to Lily brought three of them with her,” said Petunia. “One for each of our parents, and one for me.” 

Harry nodded. “And the Grangers had the same when McGonagall spoke to Hermione. They’ve been able to come in and out of Diagon Alley and Platform 9 3/4 as long as I’ve known them.”

Dudley and Petunia continued to stare into the box. “Go ahead,” Harry insisted. “One for each of you. But be careful to only touch one. They’re infused with a magic called flesh memory. As soon as you touch it, it becomes yours and no one else’s. That’s why I can’t pull them out for you, I’m only allowed to hold the box.” 

Dudley reached in first, afraid of what might happen when he did touch the necklace, like he was going to be shocked, or something. Instead, he felt a slight tingle in his hand as he took the small crystal, no larger than a marble, in his fingers.

“Wow,” he said, pulling it out. “So I can do magic now?” 

“Not really,” said Harry. “Like I said, you probably have as much magic now as your average Squib. And it’s only temporary, you have to recharge them once a year. I’ll explain that later. And you can only do one spell.”

“What’s that?” 

“ _Accio_ ,” said Petunia, taking the second one for herself. “In case you lose it, it will come to you, correct?”

“Right,” said Harry. “The chain’s unbreakable. And if anyone steals it from you it won’t work for them, now that the flesh memory charm’s in effect. But it can still be misplaced, so _Accio_ will bring it to you if that ever happens.” 

“But, still,” said Dudley, putting it around his neck. “Pretty damn cool that I get to cast a spell.”

“There are a lot of restrictions, though,” explained Harry. “They’re heavily regulated by the Ministry, for obvious reasons. You can’t go into the Ministry. Muggles are still forbidden there except for extremely important people, like the Prime Minister. Hogwarts is only available to you by invitation. St. Mungo’s, the hospital, has their own way to handle jinxed Muggles, but you can only enter as a visitor if you’re on the pass list for someone who’s a patient. But if anything happens to me, Ginny, or Teddy, know that you’re both on our lists. I’ll have to show you where it is someday, but if you forget I’m sure the Weasleys can get you there. Again, extreme circumstances, you can’t go in for a checkup.” 

“Sounds like these things are getting more useless by the minute,” said Dudley.

“Not really,” said Harry. “Diagon Alley is still available to you, just so long as you don’t buy anything and use it in public display. You can get quills, parchment, candy, whatever. Same with Hogsmeade. The Floo Network and Portkeys are available to you, but the Ministry probably wouldn’t want you abusing them. And, most importantly, these allow you to go through any barrier put up to hide a wizard residence or neighborhood, so long as you’re on their Guest List.” 

“ _Guest List_?” asked Dudley.

“Some houses don’t have them, but most do,” explained Harry. “It’s just what it sounds like. A jinxed piece of paper, or a book, with a list of names on it. Makes sure to keep strange Muggles out. Not all wizards are decent people, and they’ve given Muggle Charms to some pretty shady people. The Ministry tries to keep their eyes open, but some slip through.” 

“Sounds like a decent system,” said Petunia. “If only we had one of those in the real world, the crime rate would plummet.”

“That’s the hope,” said Harry. “Anyway, you’re on our Guest List here at Grimmauld. Ron and Hermione’s in Tutshill, Molly and Arthur’s at the Burrow…” 

“I thought we could get to the Burrow already, though,” said Dudley. “That’s where the wedding was, right?”

“Enchanted invitations,” Harry explained. “Only those with wedding invitations could get through, and for only that day. Anyway… those three places. Andromeda has you down, Teddy’s grandmother. Bill and Fleur at Shell Cottage, I’ll have to take you there sometime. Oh, yeah, and Susan and Hannah have Dudley down for their flat, but I’m sure they’ll put Petunia down once Susan’s ready to have your mum over for tea.”

Dudley blushed slightly at this, and Harry couldn’t help but snicker. The two hadn’t seen each other since the reception, but whenever Harry and Susan Bones spoke at the Ministry (and this was fairly often, as they worked on the same floor), the first questions out of her mouth always dealt with his cousin. The minimal communication he had with Dudley in that same time period bore similar inquiries about Amelia Bones’ niece. 

“Beyond that, I’m not sure,” said Harry to Petunia. “If you want to use my owl to write to Pomona or Hestia they would probably put you down on their lists no problem, and the same goes if either of you want to get in contact with anyone else you met at the wedding or wherever. After that it’s just a matter of, you know, getting a network set up, getting to know people, getting them comfortable enough to invite you over. Regular rules still apply in all cases, though; the door’s locked unless they open it for you. Knocking and ringing the doorbell.”

Dudley shook his head. “It’s like I’m in a bleeding video game. 

“Welcome to the real world, Duddikins,” Harry said, closing the box and pulling his wand from his back pocket. “Can I have those slips of paper I gave you? The ones with my address on them?”

“Sure,” said Dudley, pulling it out of his pocket. Petunia did the same, pulling it from her purse. Harry took them in his hand and pointed the tip at them. 

“They’re memorized, right?” he asked. When they both nodded, he said “ _Incendio_!” and the two pieces of parchment burnt into ashes.

“What did you do that for?” 

“Extra protection,” Harry said as the three got out of the car. “Think about the address, please. Now that you’re temporary wizards, it should work.”

_Number twelve Grimmauld Place?_ thought Dudley.  _Why should I…?  
  
_ No sooner did the words pass through his mind than the buildings stretched in front of him, revealing a matching house with the number twelve emblazoned over the front door. Dudley’s mouth dropped open, and he could see through the side of his vision that his mother looked just as shocked at this sudden appearance. 

Harry quickly glanced up and down the sidewalk, not noticing what was occurring. “All clear,” he said, picking up Petunia’s suitcases. “Come on.” At that, he quickly walked toward the house and up the steps.

_Looks like he noticed it after all,_ Dudley thought as Petunia followed Harry. Realizing that his suitcases were still on the sidewalk, Dudley pulled them up by their handles and followed the two into the open door. 

“Sorry about all the extra security,” Harry apologized as they entered the house.

“Are we going to have to do that with all of the wizard houses?” asked Dudley. “We have to memorize addresses, too?” 

“Just this one, unless things start going bad again,” said Harry. “We have an extra protection spell on the house called a Fidelius Charm. I don’t like it, but Kingsley insisted.”

“What does it do?” asked Petunia as she took her scarf off. 

“It’s complicated,” said Harry. “But the dime store version is that I’m a Secret-Keeper for this house. No one can come in, no one even knows it exists, unless I tell them, either in person or in writing. The Ministry set it up because they’re afraid some Death Eater might get it in their gut to take out some vengeance on me. But it actually comes in a lot handier in other ways, since it keeps the press from beating down our door.”

“The press?” said Petunia, slightly aghast. “Why would they want you?” 

Harry shrugged. “Beats me,” he said. “It’s not like I defeated Voldemort. He beat himself. Anyway, I’d like to think I’m old hat by now, but the paparazzi’s almost as bad in the wizard world as they are in the Muggle. They slowed down for a bit about a year ago, but ever since I got married they’ve started sniffing around again, both at me and at Ginny. The Fidelius keeps them away from the house.”

As Petunia removed her jacket, she shook her head. All those years of paying attention to celebrity marriages, relationships, and children, she never thought that she’d actually be related to one of them. 

_But he_ can’t _be a celebrity,_ her rational mind protested.  _He’s just Harry Potter, for God’s sake._

“I can give you the grand tour later,” said Harry as they walked into the kitchen, a small brown owl hooting softly in a cage in the corner. “But dinner’s almost ready.”

“You’re cooking for yourself?” said Petunia, not without some level of pride, as she smelled the odor of baking food. “I guess I taught you well. I would have expected pizza delivery.”

“ _Can_ you get pizza delivered?” asked Dudley. “I’m probably going to be in the mood one of these days.” 

“Not really,” said Harry, peeking into the oven. “You’d have to give them an address to meet you at, so it’s probably just as easy to pick it up yourself. And this isn’t my cooking, Aunt Petunia. Kreacher just left after you showed up, or I would have introduced him.”

He paused in the middle of the kitchen, furrowing his brow in thought. 

“Actually,” he corrected, “You’ve already met him. Little knobby-looking elf, showed up in your living room before my sixth year.”

Petunia’s jaw dropped. “That…  _thing_ … is still with you?” 

“Ummm, yeah,” said Harry carefully. “But he’s loads better now. He works here on weekdays. But don’t worry,” he added quickly in response to Petunia’s look of horror, “He’ll keep out of your way. He doesn’t like to be a bother as long as you treat him well.”

“What… what does he do around here?” 

“He’s a house-elf, does house-elf things. Cleans, mostly. Laundry, dishes, shopping, whatever. If Ginny’s not at practice or a game, or if Teddy or I are around, he’ll make us lunch or tea. That’s about it, though. Ginny and I were both raised by taskmasters, we know how to clean up after ourselves.”

Petunia, recognizing an insult when she heard one, opened her mouth to protest. But then she saw the warm smile on Harry’s face and relented.  _I’m not used to him making jokes around me,_ she thought, and saw from her son’s face that he was thinking the same thing.  _Yet another thing to add to the list of things to get used to now that we’re all on speaking terms._

“So if this creature does all the housework, what am I supposed to do?” she asked instead.

“Nothing,” said Harry. “Well, nothing in terms of cleaning or cooking or whatever. Hell, Kreacher would be insulted if you tried. Your job’s a lot simpler: get yourself back on your feet again. Both of you.” 

Petunia shook her head. “I feel like I should do _something_ ,” she said. “I’m taking advantage of your hospitality. You’ve only been married six months, and you already are letting family members use your spare rooms.”

“You’re not taking advantage,” Harry insisted. “Hell, I lived with you for sixteen years, even though we both wished I didn’t. A month is the least I can do.” 

“That’s all I’m going to need,” said Dudley. “No more than that. I just need to find a construction company that’ll hire me on. I have some decent references, shouldn’t take long.”

“And the same with me,” said Petunia as Harry pulled the shepherd’s pie out of the oven. “I have enough from the divorce settlement and the sale of the house to get a decent flat. I just don’t think anyone will take me unless I’m employed.” 

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?” asked Harry, realizing that, as long as he had lived with the Dursleys, Vernon was the only one who had ever had a job.

“Nothing too difficult,” Petunia said as she started opening cupboards left and right. “Plates?” 

“Two to your right,” said Harry. “Dudley, cups are next to the sink.”

“I haven’t worked since sixth form,” Petunia continued. “I was a waitress. I don’t think I could go back to that again. I might see what type of openings there are in some shops around the area. Even if I have to work a cash register, it’s a start.” 

“So you’re planning on staying in London, then?”

 “Or one of the nearby boroughs,” Petunia shrugged. “I’ll find a job first, then find somewhere to live near there. Hopefully, I can save some money if I don’t have to use the Underground too often.” 

“How about you, Big D?” asked Harry. “You going to move to the big city?”

“Probably,” Dudley said. “I was talking about getting a flat with Piers and Gordon before we left Privet Drive. But I don’t know. I’ve barely spoken to either of them since we got to Milwaukee. I’m not sure if they’d be up for that anymore. Hell, I’m not sure if _I’d_ be up for that anymore.” 

That caused Harry a moment’s pause. He was still trying to get used to Dudley being the new and improved model. How were his friends taking it? Did he even consider people like Piers his friends anymore? And, if not, who did he have left here in England?

Something told Harry that he’d be seeing more of his cousin than he had thought he would be after leaving Privet Drive four years ago. Harry and his other friends both. The thought didn’t disturb him as much as it might have in the past. 

Whatever Dudley thought of his newly-found social situation, he didn’t show it now. “How many cups?” he asked as he dug through the cupboard. “Four? Is Ginny coming home?”

“No, she has a match against Ballycastle this weekend, so she won’t be home till Sunday. But pull four, anyway, we’re expecting one more.”

“So she made the main squad?” asked Dudley. 

“Yeah,” said Harry with no lack of pride. “Got in as Chaser right after we got back from our honeymoon. She’s already in the top five in scoring in the league, and she’s only been playing half a season.”

“I’d love to get to a match sometime,” said Dudley. “Have you got to many games?” Sports had always been an interest for him and, from what Harry heard from Dedalus, a lot of their time on the run had been spent talking Quidditch. 

“A few,” said Harry. “When I can get away from work. She plays for Holyhead, so her home games are way out on the west end of Wales.”

“Just a few?” asked Petunia. “I thought you’d be more supportive than that.” 

“Okay, fine, most,” Harry admitted. “But I’m here this weekend. And, like I said, work does keep me away occasionally. More now than before, actually.”

“What is it you do, exactly?” 

“Well, for lack of a better term, I’m a Muggle liaison for the Ministry,” Harry said as he dug through the icebox. “Which means something different now compared to when I started last year. At first, my job was to help with the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee, which did exactly what the name implies. If anything magical happened that was in the plain view of Muggles, we were sent in to try to come up with an explanation that could be accepted. If they bought it, fine. If they didn’t, we altered their memory to make them think that they had seen something mundane.”

Petunia stared at him suspiciously. “You… you haven’t altered _our_ memories, have you?” 

“What?” said Harry. “No! Okay, well, the Ministry altered Aunt Marge’s memory after… well… you know…”

_After you inflated her like a zeppelin,_ thought Petunia. Deep down, Petunia was glad that she could still remember it, even though Marge couldn’t. She never liked the woman, and now that Vernon was out of her life, Petunia was more than willing to loathe her. 

“But you two were never touched,” Harry insisted as he poured his aunt and cousin some tea. “Anyway, that’s what I used to do. But my position, a lot of our positions, have changed. They made a few adjustments, created a few new departments, after what happened in the States in September.”

“The World Trade Center?” said Dudley, and Harry nodded. “But… those weren’t magic attacks, were they?” 

“No, they were Muggle,” said Harry somewhat darkly. “Total bastards, but Muggle. It was a wakeup call, though, for wizards and Muggles both. Cornelius Fudge and Rufus Scrimgeour, the last two real Ministers before Kingsley, had stuck to the old line, even through the war: Keep the magical problems to the magical world, and the Muggle world will handle itself. They only spoke to the Prime Minister in times of extreme emergencies, and even then, didn’t give any information beyond ‘Keep calm, we’re working on it.’

“It can’t be that way anymore,” said Harry. “The Death Eaters may be on their last legs, but they’re not the only ones who want to see Muggles below us. The Ministry’s afraid that the attacks in September are going to give too many ideas to too many people. And they’re not the only ones. Every wizard government in the world sees it. Religious fanatics are bad enough. But religious fanatics with magical powers are downright terrifying.” 

“So that’s what you do now?” asked Dudley. “Kind of a magical equivalent of that Homeland Security department the US set up?”

“Kind of,” said Harry. “Kingsley and the Muggle Prime Minister have set up a secret task force within British Intelligence. We exchange information with each other a lot more freely than we had before, when our connection to the Muggle government was just an occasional walk into the PM’s office. So that’s what I’m doing now. And that’s what Hermione’s doing. And that’s what a lot of other Muggle-borns in the Ministry were assigned to do: to be liaisons with this new department, give them any information the Aurors are willing to share, and to give the Aurors any that the Muggles want to exchange. We’re the most qualified for the job, since we’re comfortable in both worlds.” 

“And that’s working?”

“Hopefully,” said Harry. “Auror Intelligence and Muggle Intelligence have been pretty independent for a lot of years. It’ll take some time to get them to trust each other, considering the Muggles never knew we existed before two or three months ago. But from what the Prime Minister’s told me, things are getting better.” 

Petunia nearly gagged on her tea. “The Prime Minister?” she rasped. “You… you speak to the _Prime Minister_?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” Harry said, and Petunia was amazed that this wasn’t a bigger deal to him. “I guess Kingsley decided that he might be more impressed if he was meeting with the savior of the wizarding world, or something. So I’m assigned to communicate with him when Kingsley or Percy are too busy elsewhere, or if we need more of a subtle touch than from an ex-military man or a by-the-books bureaucrat.” 

“But still,” said Petunia, glancing over at her son to see the same look of shock on his face. “You’re… that’s quite a job for someone your age.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s comfortable,” he said. “I’m sure Kingsley’s begging for the day that I decide I’ve had enough; he has an office in the Auror Department ready and waiting. Probably has a house-elf keeping the seat warm for me. But I’m married. Going to have kids someday. Already have a godson. I’m not ready to put my life on the line again, not as a career, at least, now that I have a family.”

The three shared an uncomfortable silence. “Harry, I know that you’ve been through some things,” said Petunia. “But to say that you’re putting your life on the line… you can’t be…” 

“I told you we have a lot of catching up to do,” said Harry. “I’m hoping I could start tonight? Unless you two are going somewhere?”

Before either of them could answer, there was a knock at the front door. 

“Could you get that, Dudley?” asked Harry, turning his attention back to the icebox. “I need to get the salad ready.”

“Ummm, sure,” said Dudley, standing up. “I don’t need to do anything special, do I?” 

“The spell’s already allowed them to find the location,” said Harry. “But it’s still polite to knock and be invited in. So you don’t have to do anything but open the door.”

“Alright,” Dudley shrugged, then walked down the hall. Petunia gave Harry a look. 

“That’s who I think it is, isn’t it?”

In response, the two heard the door open, followed shortly by a high-pitched squeal of glee. 

“Yeah, probably,” said Harry with a grin.

Sure enough, a few moments later, Dudley Dursley returned to the kitchen, Susan Bones in tow and a big smile on his face. 

“I didn’t know you were coming!” he was saying as they entered.

“Harry invited me,” said Susan. 

“She’s our fourth,” said Harry, pointing at her with a pair of salad tongs. “Hey, Susan.”

“Hello, Harry,” Susan replied. “Hello, Mrs. Dursley.” 

“Ms. Evans now,” said Petunia. “But, hello, Susan.”

“Her only payment is that she’ll have to listen to me ramble on to you two for an hour or so about things she probably already knows a lot about.” 

Susan snorted as she and Dudley sat down at the table. “Yeah, right, like I know much about you,” she said, turning to Petunia. “We were passing acquaintances, at most, at Hogwarts. I was closer to Hermione and Ginny. Most of his adventures I heard third-hand or through the rumor mill. I’m just as curious to hear about it as you are.”

“As are we,” said Petunia. “We still never got the full story about what put us on the run in the first place outside of the basic ‘Voldemort’s out to kill me’ explanation.” 

“I’ll do what I can,” said Harry. “I took a few notes, thought it might help me get things straight in my mind.” He motioned to a small pile of parchment. Next to it was a much _much_ larger pile.

“And you decided to write an encyclopedia?” asked Dudley, looking strangely intimidated by the stack. 

“No, Hermione decided to help,” said Harry, shaking his head sadly. “Those are _her_ notes.”

“Jesus Christ, I didn’t know anybody _could_ write that much.” 

“You obviously don’t know Hermione very well,” said Susan with a wry smile, and Harry chuckled. “That’s light compared to some of her N.E.W.T. papers.”

“Hermione could write a book,” said Harry, “hell, she could write _seven_ books about me and still need to write an encyclopedia before she’d even think that she had written enough.” 

“I don’t think I’m going to need quite that much detail,” said Petunia, the look of distaste on her face as well as she stared at the pile of parchment.

“You won’t get it,” said Harry, putting the pie on the table. “I’m not much for words. They’re just there if you want to get more detail later. But, now, if you want to tuck in…” 

As the three guests of the Potter household took their turns piling dinner onto their plates, Harry reached beneath his small stack of notes.

“I want to make sure I’m not, um, over-explaining people who you would already know, Aunt Petunia,” he said. “So before I get started, I just want to make sure of something.”

He pulled a small photograph from his stack and handed it to Petunia. She peered down at the four young boys, smiling and waving back at her. 

Harry Potter leaned toward her, looking at the picture along with her, a nostalgic smile on his face. He asked, “Do you recognize any of them?”

“I do,” said Petunia. “The one there,” she pointed to the boy second from the right. “That’s your father, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Harry. “That’s James.”

“I didn’t know him when he was that young,” said Petunia. “He and Lily didn’t begin dating until later.” 

“Wow, it moves?” said Dudley, leaning in with Susan.

“Yet another thing I have to teach you,” said Susan dryly. “He looks like you, Harry.” 

“I get that a lot, yeah,” said Harry. Turning his attention back to Petunia, he said, “How about the others?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “They’re so young, it’s difficult. The one on James’ left, he was best man at their wedding?” 

“That’s Sirius,” said Harry. “My godfather. This was his house. The one on the far right is Remus Lupin, Teddy’s father, and the one on the far left is Peter Pettigrew.”

“ _Was_ his house?” 

“Like I said, I have a lot to explain.”

“Well, I guess you’d better start at the beginning, then,” said Petunia, leaning back in her chair. 

“Right, the beginning,” said Harry, thinking back.

_Where to start?_

But there was really only one place to start.

“Seventy-five years ago,” said Harry, “There was a boy named Tom Riddle…”

 


	15. Forty-Two Months Later: Things You Already Know

Forty-Two Months Later:

Things You Already Know

 

 

“Seventy-five years ago,” said Harry, “There was a boy named Tom Riddle.”

He reached over to take the small stack of parchment, the notes that he had written for himself, and laid them next to his plate, which remained empty. 

“Tom Marvolo Riddle’s father was a Muggle,” he continued, flipping through his notes, “from a well-to-do family. His mother was a witch from outside of town, an inbred woman by the name of Merope Gaunt, whose family was on the tail end of the dwindling bloodline of Salazar Slytherin and Cadmus Peverell.”

“Slytherin?” asked Dudley Dursley, turning to Susan Bones. “That’s…” 

“One of the four Houses at Hogwarts,” she nodded. “He was one of the founders, along with Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw.”

“Are we going to have to memorize all these names?” asked Dudley, his face already showing signs that, although he was more tolerant than he was when Harry Potter was growing up, he still wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. 

 “No, sorry,” said Harry. “I’ll try to keep the unimportant ones out of it. And if I start talking about things you already know, Aunt Petunia, just say so. I don’t know how much my mum or Dumbledore told you. If any of you want to, you know, get more detail later, I’m sure Hermione’s notes will give you more than even _I’d_ want to know.”

“Just do what you can,” said Petunia Evans, taking a sip of her tea. “You know what’s important more than we do. Besides, if I know any of it, I still haven’t thought of it in years. And Dudley hasn’t heard any, I never told him a word of your history. 

“Right,” said Harry. “Anyway, Merope had a father and a brother still alive, filled with a hatred for Muggles. And she had a mad fancy for Tom the senior, much to her father’s chagrin. One day, her brother attacked a Muggle in town, and the Ministry came down on him. Merope’s father fought them, as well, and they were both arrested, leaving Merope to fend for herself.

“Suddenly finding herself free of the clutches of her family, she did what any down-trodden witch in love with someone she couldn’t have would do: she mixed up a love potion and made Tom drink it.   He fell in love with her and got her pregnant. After a while, she convinced herself that he must love her back, so she stopped giving him the potion.” 

“And he left,” said Petunia.

“Like a bat out of hell.” 

Petunia shook her head, marveling at the stupidity that can come from people in love.

“So that left her alone,” Harry continued. “With nothing but a baby in her belly and a locket, the last heirloom of Slytherin, around her neck. Even the locket didn’t last very long; she sold it to a shop in Knockturn Alley for a fraction of what it was worth. But, when you’re hungry and poor, you do what you can. 

“Eventually, she ended up on the doorstep of an orphanage in London, on her last legs. She gave birth to her son that night, named him Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for his grandfather, and died.

“Tom was… odd… to say the least,” he said. “ _Creepy’s_ probably a better way to put it. Mysteriously killed animals, and did things to the children of the orphanage that no one wanted to talk about. Tom didn’t understand why these things were happening around him until Albus Dumbledore showed up around his eleventh birthday to tell him he was a wizard.” 

“That was the Merlin-looking bloke that showed up before your sixth-year, right?” asked Dudley.

Harry nodded. “He eventually became Headmaster of Hogwarts, but at that time he was just the Transfiguration professor.” 

“What’s that?”

Susan pulled her wand from her pocket and tapped Dudley’s fork, which turned into an earthworm. Tapped it again, and it turned back. 

“That’s Transfiguration,” she said to his dumbstruck face. “Go on, Harry.”

“Dumbledore invited him to Hogwarts,” said Harry, smiling despite himself and wondering if Dudley would be able to touch that fork again, let alone eat with it. “And so he went. Distanced himself publicly from his past. Excelled in all of his classes, became one of the most popular boys in the school. Almost all of the professors loved him.” 

“Except Dumbledore…” said Susan, not asking.

“Dumbledore knew some of Riddle’s past,” said Harry. “About his time at the orphanage, at least. He had met the real Tom Riddle the day he brought him his letter of acceptance. He knew the boy could be charismatic, but he also knew that he had a twisted sense of right and wrong.” 

“Sounds like a wizard version of Hitler,” said Petunia.

“Close enough to the truth,” said Harry. “But when you’re talking the wizard world, the scale will never come close to anything Muggle tyrants could pull off. Thank God for small favors. Dumbledore had the right idea, though. While he was getting perfect marks in all of his classes, while he was achieving prefect status and getting the professors to fall all over him, Riddle was doing some Dark stuff behind the scenes. Fashioning himself a small legion of other Dark wizards. Learning about his past, and about his connection to both the Muggle and Wizarding world. Gave himself a new name: Lord Voldemort.” 

At the name, Susan Bones flinched. Harry turned to her. “Sorry,” he said.

“No, I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I know that it’s been four years, but… I guess it just takes some getting used to, hearing it used like it’s nothing.” 

“I knew Riddle sounded nasty,” said Dudley.

 “When he was sixteen, he went back to Little Hangleton and met his uncle. Next thing Morfin Gaunt knew, he was being arrested for the murder of Tom’s father and his grandparents. But he didn’t do it; Tom did, and altered Morfin’s memory to make him confess to the crime. 

“The next summer, Tom returned to Hogwarts and opened the Chamber of Secrets, a room created by Salazar Slytherin, to only be opened by a true heir of Slytherin, that housed a giant snake.”

“A… a snake?” asked Petunia. “One of the founders of the school put a… how big are we talking?” 

“Big enough to fill this room, easy,” said Harry.

Petunia shook her head. “Professors putting snakes the size of airplanes in their own school,” she sniffed. “I know there are a bunch of decent wizards, but a lot of you are psychotic.” 

“I know it as well as you do, Aunt Petunia,” said Harry. “So he sent this snake, this Basilisk, through the school in secret and under his control. It actually killed a girl named Myrtle.”

“Oh, my…” said Susan, her hand covering her mouth. “ _That’s_ how Moaning Myrtle died?” 

Harry nodded, but Petunia looked confused. “Is this one of those names that we don’t know?”

“She’s one of the ghosts in the school,” said Susan to both Petunia and Dudley. “Not exactly the friendliest girl, but, wow, I can see why.” 

“She wasn’t exactly the social butterfly before she died,” said Harry. “But this obviously didn’t help matters. So Riddle used the Basilisk to kill Myrtle. But after he discovered that they would close the school because of the attacks, and that he would be sent back to his orphanage, he ended it the best way he knew how: by framing someone else. So he found the biggest, softest animal lover in the place, who just happened to be Rubeus Hagrid.”

“Hagrid?” said Dudley. “The giant that came to get you at the lighthouse?” 

“Half-giant, actually,” said Susan. “I’ve seen more real giants than I ever care to again, and he doesn’t come close.”

“He doesn’t look seventy,” said Petunia. 

“Giants age well,” said Harry. “He’ll probably be around long after we’re gone. That’s how magical creatures tend to be. So Hagrid was framed and Riddle was able to keep the school open, finish his education, and disappear for ten or fifteen years before returning to the wizarding world and beginning a reign of terror the likes of which hadn’t been seen in centuries. The Ministry fought Voldemort and his Dark wizards, now calling themselves Death Eaters, as well as they could. Which wasn’t enough.

“Dumbledore, in the meanwhile, founded a group called the Order of the Phoenix to contend with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. My parents were in the first version of that group, along with the others in that photograph.” At this, he tapped on the picture, causing James and Sirius to jump back in surprise. “So was Susan’s uncle, Neville’s parents, Hagrid, Molly’s brothers… when you get right down to it, you two will learn over time that everyone seems to be related to everyone else in one way or another in the magic world. There aren’t a lot of us to go around, so we end up with one hell of a family tree, even before adding in all of the Muggle-born wizards and half-blood marriages.” 

“What about Sev?” asked Petunia. “You told me that he has some role in all of this. He was one of the Order, wasn’t he?”

“It’s… complicated,” said Harry. “When the Order was founded, though, he was a Death Eater through and through.” 

“Who’s Sev?” asked Dudley.

“Severus Snape,” said Harry. “He was my mum’s best friend at one point, and was also the one to introduce her to the wizarding world.” 

Susan’s eyes widened. “Get out of here,” she said. “Professor Snape was your mum’s friend? I don’t know how _anyone_ could like him.”

“So he was a bad guy,” said Petunia, shaking her head. “He always seemed off to me, I could never see what Lily saw in him. He insulted me whenever he had half a chance.” 

_Yeah, you weren’t so great yourself,_ thought Harry, but bit back the retort. Instead he continued. “So this group fought Voldemort’s group for years. There were losses on both sides.”

“My uncle was killed during that war,” said Susan quietly. “His entire family with him. I never knew him, but my parents and my aunt told me about him.” Dudley reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently. Harry gave it a quick glance ( _This is_ Dudley _?_ ) before continuing. 

“In late 1979, Dumbledore, who was Headmaster by then, was interviewing potential professors for the new Divination position at Hogwarts.”

“That’s, like, fortune-telling, right?” asked Dudley. 

“Yeah,” said Harry, and Dudley smiled proudly. “As he was interviewing one of them, he thought she was a bit of a fraud, until she let loose a big one.” At this, he pulled the notes closer to him. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve heard it so often I almost have it memorized, but I want to make sure I get it right:

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,”_ he read.  _“Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”  
_

“That’s… that’s creepy,” said Dudley. “Like something out of that movie with all the hobbits.”

“Dumbledore heard the prophecy,” said Harry. “And had an idea of what it meant. He hired the woman instantly, in order to protect her from the Death Eaters, since he wasn’t the only one to hear it. Professor Snape happened to be in the same inn that Dumbledore and Trelawney were at, and was walking by the closed door when the prophecy happened.” 

“Trelawney?” said Susan. “I didn’t think she had an ounce of ability in her.”

“Only a few ounces,” said Harry. “Anyway, Professor Snape reported what he had heard to Voldemort. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on who you were asking, he hadn’t heard all of it. Only the first part. He knew that someone who could defeat Voldemort was going to be born at the end of the seventh month, and was going to be born to someone who had _thrice defied him_ , someone who had fought him on three or more occasions and came out alive. 

“Dumbledore and Voldemort did the same math. Odds are it was someone in the Order, since they were the ones who fought Voldemort’s army the most. And it had to be someone who would be born at the end of July 1980. That left only two possibilities, two mothers who were due around then. One was Alice Longbottom, Neville’s mum. And the other…”

“Lily,” said Petunia quietly. “Good Lord, that’s why she died? Because of some prophecy?” 

“It could have been either us or the Longbottoms,” said Harry. “But Voldemort decided I posed more of a threat for some reason, so decided I was the one he would kill. If anything, he was probably planning to take us out, and then go to the Longbottoms and do the same, just to be safe.

“Snape told him about the prophecy, but never thought about the repercussions. He didn’t realize that my mum was a target. Once he found out, he asked Voldemort to spare her, even went so far as to meet with Dumbledore in secret. Begged him to protect her. Said he would do anything, so long as she lived.” 

Harry turned to Petunia. “Severus loved my mother,” he said. “Had from the moment he laid eyes on her when they were ten. He hated my father, didn’t give a lick about me. But he cared about her more than anyone he had ever known, anyone he would ever know.”

Petunia shook her head in wonder, but didn’t seem that surprised. “I didn’t see him very often after Lily went to school,” she said. “He would come over occasionally, but I always made sure I was somewhere else when the two of them were together. He spoke like witches and wizards born from human families were something to look down upon, but he never said that about Lily.” 

“He did once,” said Harry. “That’s what ended their friendship. But he still loved her, all the same.”

“How do you know all of this?” asked Susan. “You talk like you were there. Did Snape tell you all of this?” 

“In a way, yeah,” said Harry, recalling dipping his head into the Pensieve all of those years ago. “Anyway, Severus begged both Voldemort and Dumbledore to protect Lily and, despite his best wishes, myself and my father. Dumbledore did what he could. He hid my parents using the same spell that I have around this house, the Fidelius Charm. They made Sirius, my godfather, the Secret Keeper. But Sirius had his doubts. He realized that anyone who knew anything about Dad would know that he was candidate number one, with Lupin as number two. So he talked Dad into giving the duty to Peter Pettigrew, one of the other members of the Order. That one, right there.” He again tapped his finger on the picture, and Peter flinched at the contact.

“But it wasn’t enough…” said Petunia. 

“Definitely wasn’t enough,” said Harry, both sadly and darkly. “Peter was a Death Eater. A spy for Voldemort within the ranks of the Order. He took his newfound knowledge and ran to Voldemort, singing like a bird. So Voldemort knew where we were hiding. Came in on Halloween. Killed my dad. My mum tried to protect me, put herself in front of me. Voldemort, deciding that Snape was high enough in his ranks where he could give him a woman, gave Mum the opportunity to get out of the way. She refused, so he killed her.”

Harry had to stop speaking for a moment. He looked down at his notes, flipping them absently. He didn’t talk about the details of his parent’s death very often. He spoke of them even less since he actually saw them occur in Voldemort’s mind that Christmas Eve in Godric’s Hollow. It was one thing to have dreamt about it for his entire life, but now… 

He sniffed, trying to regain his composure. From what he heard above his lowered head, it sounded as though Petunia was doing the same thing. Dudley and Susan both remained silent.

“So it just left me,” he said eventually. “Voldemort pointed his wand at me, and said the words for the Killing Curse. Then things went… wrong.” 

“Wrong how?” asked Dudley.

“It’s going to sound strange no matter how I describe it,” Harry tried to explain. “Hell, Dumbledore told it to me for years, but I still can’t really put it into words, the how, the what, anything like that. All that I can say is that my mum died to protect me. Because she did that, I was… given protection. A spell that probably doesn’t have a name. ‘Love’ is too vague of a term, but that’s what Dumbledore called it. My mum loved me, she gave me her love to protect me, and it was the one thing that Voldemort feared, that he had never had.” 

“You’re right, it does sound strange,” said Dudley, shaking his head.

“So it hurt him,” said Harry. “It deflected the spell he cast back at him. Would have killed him for sure, if he hadn’t had enough protective measures to keep him immortal. As it was, the _Avada Kedavra_ he cast turned him into something almost nonexistent, and left me with nothing but this scar. What was left of him escaped, never to be heard from for another ten years. 

“Soon after that, Hagrid came to the house. He found me and brought me to Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, who were waiting for him at Privet Drive. They wrote a quick note and left me on your doorstep, where I spent the next ten years of my life while all around the wizarding world I was becoming the most famous name in anyone’s lifetime.”

“Okay, wait, I’m confused,” said Dudley, waving his hand. “Why us? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s been… interesting. But if Dumbledore knew anything about Aunt Lily he would have known that Mum had disowned her, and would have wanted nothing to do with you. Why weren’t you put up for adoption, or given to another family? If you were so famous, if they thought you had taken out Voldemort… wouldn’t somebody else have taken you in?” 

Harry wanted to answer, but Petunia interrupted. “It was because we were blood,” she said slowly, looking to Harry for confirmation. “The Headmaster did his best to explain your situation, with the power that Lily gave you, and all of that. But the best way that I remembered it was simply that we were the last family that you had. As long as you were with us…”

“I couldn’t be touched,” Harry said, nodding. “Not by Voldemort, at least.” He turned to Dudley. “That’s why your mum didn’t let me leave after Vernon tried to kick me out. Remember after the Dementor attack?” 

Dudley nodded. “Yeah, I think so,” he said. “I’ll admit, a lot of it was fuzzy that night, but I remember an owl screaming at Mum, or something.”

“You were attacked by Dementors?” Susan said, turning to Dudley. “That’s… I didn’t know. What was it like?” 

“It was… odd…” said Dudley, and once again, Harry wondered what had gone through Dudley’s mind when the Dementors attacked him. Dudley’s worst memory…

“I stayed because I had to,” Harry said. “Your mum could have thrown me out or given me up for adoption, but she didn’t. That’s all that mattered. I stayed protected until you three left for the States. 

“So you all know the next ten years,” he continued, wishing to leave it at that. They knew as well as he did the type of treatment that he had received at their hands. Why remind them of it, why tell Susan about it, when the worst of the lot was now out of their lives and they were doing their best to reconcile? “Of my life, at least. In the meantime, after my parents were killed, Sirius was falsely accused of a mass murder that was committed by Peter, and was shipped to Azkaban, the wizard prison. Frank and Alice Longbottom, Neville’s parents, were tortured into insanity by some Death Eaters who didn’t know that they were beaten. And I lived with you three, and Voldemort disappeared from the map.

“Then Hagrid brought me my letter of acceptance to Hogwarts. I met Ron, Ginny, and most of the other Weasleys before I even got on the train. Met Hermione and Neville during the journey to school. I won’t bore you with the details of most of my school life…” 

“Why stop now?” asked Dudley, which earned him a glance from the others at the table. “I’m only joking,” he said defensively, “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“…But in the ten years after he had been defeated,” Harry continued, “the remains of Voldemort were trying to find a way to come back to full power. He was doing what he could. Drinking unicorn blood, mostly, which gives a person immortality, but not really. But he found another way when he ran into our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in Albania.   Voldemort possessed him, and learned about an item called the Philosopher’s Stone, which could be used to make an elixir for true immortality. He learned that Dumbledore had it, and that it was being hidden at Hogwarts. 

“Ron, Hermione, and myself also found out about it, and we ended up trying to protect it from Quirrell. I fought him, faced some twisted version of Voldemort for the first time, and almost died. But, in the end, he didn’t get the Stone.”

“When you were eleven…” breathed Petunia. 

“When I was eleven,” Harry agreed. “When I was twelve, the Chamber of Secrets, the chamber that housed the giant snake, was re-opened. Through sheer luck and coincidence it didn’t kill anyone, but left a lot of people, including Hermione and Penelope, Percy’s girlfriend, paralyzed over the year.”

“You had said it was the true heir of Slytherin who could open it,” said Petunia. “Who else was there if it wasn’t Voldemort?”

“It _was_ Voldemort, in a sense,” said Harry. “He had left an enchanted diary behind that contained a fragment of his soul. One of his Death Eater buddies slipped it into a stack of books, and it possessed the person who wrote in it.” 

“Who was it?” asked Susan. “I mean, I remember that you were a suspect to a lot of people. At the end of the year they said that the Chamber was closed forever, and the person who did it was cleared, but they never announced who…”

Harry took a deep breath.  _Boy, I hope she doesn’t kill me for this,_ he thought. “It was Ginny,” he said, staring into Susan’s shocked face. “Lucius Malfoy slipped the diary into her stack of books that summer, hoping that it would discredit Arthur at the Ministry if his only daughter was involved in re-opening the Chamber.” 

Susan whistled under her breath.. “No wonder she was all weird that year.”

_Well, that wasn’t the_ only _reason,_ he thought, but decided it was probably best to leave Ginny’s then-unrequited crush out of the story. 

“The summer before my third year,” he said instead. “When I turned thirteen, Sirius escaped from Azkaban. He had learned that Peter was still alive, and hiding at Hogwarts in the shape of Ron’s pet rat.”

“No, no, no, wait,” said Dudley. “So he was a rat. Literally a rat, with the tail and the whiskers and all?” 

“He was an Animagus,” said Harry. “It’s a wizard that can take the form of an animal. He was one. So were Sirius and my dad.”

“What about the fourth one?” asked Dudley, pointing to the picture. “What’s his name?” 

“Remus Lupin,” said Susan. “He was our professor that year. And he was a werewolf, not an Animagus.”

“A werewolf?” said Dudley. “And… umm… and they’re real?” 

“Welcome to the world of magic,” said Harry. “You’ve already met the half-giant and the centaur. Why not werewolves?”

“So, okay, let me get this straight,” said Dudley, taking that bit of news surprisingly in stride. “Your best friend just happened to have a pet rat who was really the bastard who let slip to Voldemort about your parents.” 

“Right…”

“And one of his best friends happened to be a professor at your school the same year that his other best friend happened to break out of prison to kill him?” 

“Right.”

Dudley shook his head. “I know you said that everyone seems to be related to everyone else in this world, but, blimey…” 

“We eventually found out the truth,” said Harry. “Even if it took the Ministry a few more years to decide on Sirius’s innocence. Peter escaped before we could get him into custody, so Sirius had to spend the next few years in hiding."

“I remember that,” said Petunia. “You made it clear that you were related to that man we saw on the news.” 

“That was one of those rare instances where the Ministry and the Prime Minister connected up,” he said. “But they could only say that he was a murderer, not a Dark wizard. Even though he was, you know, neither.”

“What was he like, Harry?” asked Susan. “So few of us ever got to meet him.” 

“He was a decent sort,” said Harry, with a nostalgic grin. “A little short-tempered sometimes. Twelve years in Azkaban will do that to anyone. Plus, after he escaped, he spent a lot of time here, where he grew up. And he hated his family, and his family hated him, so he hated this place. He was the only Black to never be sorted into Slytherin, and they thought of it as a kind of betrayal. So he was never really the happy-go-lucky type around me that I guess he was growing up. But, still, I loved him. He’s probably the closest I’ll ever get to having my dad back in my life.”

“What happened to him?” asked Dudley. “I mean, he’s not around anymore, right?” 

“No, he’s not,” said Harry flatly. “At the end of our fourth year, Voldemort came back to full power. There was a contest held at our school that year called the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Our school, along with two others, joined together for the year, and one student from each school competed in three different events in order to win the Tri-Wizard Championship. Fleur Weasley, then Fleur Delacour, was one. Viktor Krum, the one you two met at the reception, the foreign bloke talking to Gwenog and Charlie, was another. Cedric Diggory, a Hogwarts student from Susan’s house, was a third. And I was the fourth.”

“That math doesn’t add up,” said Dudley. 

“A Death Eater had infiltrated the school that year,” said Harry. “Posed as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Alastor Moody. You met the real Moody later, at the train station.”

“The one with the weird eye?” 

“That’s why the called him Mad-Eye,” said Harry. “Anyway, this Death Eater rigged the tournament to get me into it, with the ultimate goal of getting me to Voldemort. So there were four Champions from the three schools. In the end, Cedric and I won it at the same time, and were both teleported to Peter and Voldemort. Peter killed Cedric, and then used my blood, the bones of Tom Riddle, Sr., and his own hand in a ceremony to bring Voldemort back to his old self. More than his old self, since the protections that my mum gave me didn’t work after that point. At least, not the same way as it had before.”

Susan remained silent, poking at her half-eaten shepherd’s pie. Harry didn’t know if she had been friends with Cedric, it seemed like every Hufflepuff had been friends with Cedric, but she probably wasn’t very comfortable hearing about his death, friends or not. It had hit everyone hard, since it was really the first death in the new war. 

“Voldemort and I fought,” said Harry, deciding that the discussion of _Priori Incantatem_ would probably be too much information for Dudley and Petunia to absorb, “and I escaped. But he was back, and, although the Ministry refused to admit it for almost a year, the war was starting again.”

Harry looked back down at his papers and, realizing that he still had a ways to go, looked back up again. “Do we need to take a break?” he asked. “I have dessert, if anyone wants some.” 

“That would be lovely,” said Petunia, standing and stretching. “But right now, I need to powder my nose.”

“Upstairs,” said Harry, standing and stretching himself. “First landing.” As Petunia nodded and left the kitchen, he turned to Dudley. “Do you want me to show you where you’re staying? Bring your luggage up?” 

Dudley shrugged. “Sure, why not? You want to come with?” he asked Susan.

“Sure,” she replied, and the three left the kitchen. Harry pulled out his wand and cast _Wingardium Leviosa_ on Dudley’s suitcases, Susan doing the same with Petunia’s. Dudley watched with still some level of awe as the suitcases floated effortlessly up the stairs. 

“Sorry that you have to be listening to all of this,” Harry said to Susan Bones as they followed behind the suitcases. “I know you already know a lot of the story, plus… you know… the whole Cedric thing.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said. “I was never really close to Cedric. His death was tough, but it was still a long time ago. I’ve got past it.” 

“Good,” said Harry. The three passed the bedrooms on the first landing. One, Molly and Arthur’s former bedroom, was now made up as a bedroom for Teddy Lupin on the nights that he stayed with Harry and Ginny. It was the largest of all of the bedrooms, at least those that hadn’t housed hippogriffs, thought Harry of Mrs. Black’s former bedroom, but Harry and Ginny both felt a little off about having sex in the room where her parents had probably done the same thing, so they had converted the room across the hall, where she and Hermione had stayed, into their own.

_And one of these days I’ll stop thinking about these rooms in terms of where we all slept in the one year that we had actually lived here,_ thought Harry, _and start thinking of them in terms of_ my _rooms._ Our _rooms._

But, as they continued up to the second landing, he realized that as long as he didn’t have the guts to empty the former bedrooms of Regulus and Sirius Black of their possessions, it wouldn’t truly be his home.

“And you don’t have to apologize for the rest of the story,” said Susan. “It’s fascinating. And, really, it’s not like everything that happened is public knowledge. I don’t even think I had heard… Voldemort’s real name.” She paused when she said the name, which seemed to be a habit for a lot of people that Harry knew. “Besides, it’s nice to hear it from you. Feels like I’m part of the club, you know?” 

“The club?” said Harry, shocked to hear the words. “I didn’t know there _was_ a club.”

“Sure there was,” said Susan, somewhat embarrassed. “Every year we were at school, you, Hermione, and Ron were involved in some scheme or another. You were always the ones who ended up the targets, or ended up saving the day, and always gave Gryffindor the House Cup. Your group got larger when Ginny, Luna, and Neville fought with you at the Ministry, but it was always you three in the end. Are you surprised that the rest of the school saw you all as some elite regime?” 

Harry stared at her blankly. “Huh,” he said. “I honestly never thought of it that way. I’m sorry that we were seen like that. Seriously, I am.”

“I know,” said Susan quickly. “You don’t have to apologize. I mean, it’s not like you chose for these things to happen. 

_Except for when we chose to go after the Stone,_ thought Harry.  _Or when we chose to go after Sirius, or chose to go the Ministry._ But he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I know a lot of people resented it,” said Susan. “Resented you and the others for hogging the spotlight, especially after your name came out of the Goblet of Fire, and you had full page articles in the _Prophet_ while Cedric only had a paragraph. But I guess I always knew the stakes, even if I didn’t know the details. I was proud to know that I was in the same classes as you, even if I wasn’t in the same House.” 

Harry felt his face heat as they heard a toilet flush down the hall. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

Dudley looked back and forth at Harry and Susan, a surprised look on his face. “I knew you were the hero type,” he said. “But bloody hell...” 

“Aunt Petunia,” Harry said as Petunia Evans walked out of the bathroom and up the stairs. “This is where you’re going to be staying.” He motioned to the room where he and Ron had once slept. “Dudley’s up one floor in Fred and… in a room on the third floor,” he corrected quickly, trying hard to keep the rooms in their new context.

Petunia stepped into the room, which still had two beds and was otherwise sparse. “Lovely,” she said with a slight hint of distaste. 

“Sorry,” said Harry, “But it’s a guest bedroom, and we still haven’t had time to dress it up. Could be worse, though. At least we moved Phineas downstairs, so you won’t have to worry about him poking his nose in at night.”

“Who’s Phineas?” 

“Phineas Nigellus Black,” Harry explained as he lowered the suitcases to the floor. “One of the former Hogwarts headmasters. He has a painting that used to hang here, but we took him down in our seventh year. He’s on the first floor now, but Ginny and I are talking about hanging him in the hall where Sirius’s mum used to be. He’s a lot less chatty than she was, and he did help the three of us quite a bit in the past few years. He deserves a little more of a central location, I think.”

“Then why haven’t you moved him?” asked Susan. 

Harry shrugged. “He likes to watch over Teddy, “ he said as they left the room and continued to the third floor. “The name of Black is dead, and his grandmother was disowned for marrying a Muggle-born, but I think Phineas recognizes that Teddy still has the blood of the Black family flowing through him. Kreacher’s the same way, treats him better than anyone whenever he comes around. Once Teddy gets older and decides that he doesn’t want Nigellus around anymore, then we’ll move him into the main hall.”

They entered the bedroom on the third floor. “Here’s your room, Dudley,” Harry said. “And please, _please_ don’t touch anything in those boxes over there.” He pointed to a few in the corner. 

“Why not?” asked Dudley, his eyes showing temptation even after his cousin’s warning.

“They’re leftovers from Fred and George’s joke shop,” said Harry. “Early attempts. Umm, failed attempts. I don’t even think George wants to touch them anymore. We’ve been trying to talk him into picking them up, but he keeps finding excuses to forget. And, unfortunately, since Ginny and I don’t know what’s in them, we’re too scared to throw them out or put them in the attic.” 

“So you’re putting me in a bedroom with potentially dangerous magic tricks,” said Dudley, throwing the de-charmed suitcase onto one of the beds. “You’re instilling me with a lot of confidence in my safety. You know that, right?”

“If it was the old you, then I wouldn’t trust you with those boxes,” said Harry. “Hell, if it was the old you, you wouldn’t be here at all. Or, if worse came to worse, I’d put you in Buckbeak’s old room. Barely smells like dead ferret anymore, and I think Kreacher cleaned out most of the blood stains.” 

“Charming,” said Dudley, his sneer not all that serious. “So you were saying something about dessert?”

\--------- 

Dessert had been eaten (Treacle tart; Ginny always had some other type of sweets when it was her turn to choose, but, in Harry’s mind, there wasn’t anything better), tea had been poured, and the conversation remained comfortable among the four.

“So when are you going to come visit?” Susan asked Dudley. “I know you’ve only been in town a day or two, but I’m getting antsy already. I want you to see our flat.” 

“Whenever you want me over, I suppose,” he replied. “Hannah and Ernie going to be there? We could do a double dinner tomorrow night, maybe catch a film?”

_Christ, and they only talked for one night?_ Harry thought to himself. This was only the second time that Dudley and Susan had seen each other, and they had already started looking at each other and acting like they were boyfriend and girlfriend. 

_Takes all types, I suppose,_ thought Harry, whose previous relationships all involved months, if not years, of agonized internal debate.

“So, Harry,” said Petunia, and Harry wasn’t sure how much she was reading between her son and this girl, “Where did you leave off? In your story?” 

“Oh, right!” said Harry, pulling himself away from thoughts about the couple and picking up his notes. “Umm, okay. So Voldemort was back. But he didn’t expect me to survive his reappearance, so he didn’t expect us to be able to react so quickly. The Ministry was in full denial of his return, but Dumbledore reacted by recreating the Order of the Phoenix. A lot of the old guard, like Hagrid, Lupin, and Moody came back, and there were some new additions this time. Most of the Weasleys joined up, as did Kingsley Shacklebolt, the current Minister of Magic, and Nymphadora Tonks, who eventually became Teddy’s mother. Oh, and Hestia and Dedalus joined up for this round, as well, you both know them.”

Dudley and Petunia both nodded in response to the names of their former protectors. 

“But, like I said, the Ministry really didn’t want to believe that Voldemort had returned. One member of the Minister’s office in particular, Dolores Umbridge, did everything she could to keep us quiet. That day that the Dementors attacked Dudley and I, that wasn’t Voldemort’s doing. That was Umbridge’s work. She sent them in secret, trying to get me out of the way at most, or, at the least, trying to discredit me and get me expelled from Hogwarts.

“You two know how it happened,” he said, nodding to the Dursleys. “The Ministry recorded my use of underage magic when I cast the Patronus. There was a huge political battle that raged that night after Dumbledore threw enough law at them to grant me an appeal. And I explained to you three what happened, and you,” he nodded to Petunia, “went against Vernon’s wishes and kept me around.” 

“What happened to you after that, though?” asked Petunia. “We had gotten a letter for some award ceremony.”

“Oh, come on, Mum,” said Dudley jokingly. “ _Some awards ceremony_. You probably still have the title of that thing memorized. You were so giddy when you got it. The look on your faces when we got to that McDonald’s was priceless.” 

“They just gave us the wrong address,” said Petunia, her cheeks flushing.

“Yeah, that was a pack of lies,” said Harry slowly. “Tonks actually sent it to you. When you were out of the house, a big group of Order members came to get me. Tonks, Kingsley, Lupin, Mad-Eye, Hestia, Dedalus, and a few others you wouldn’t know. Broke me out of my room, and we flew here. This was the new headquarters for the Order at the time. It was also where the Weasleys were living, as well as Sirius. That’s why if you hear me tell you that you’re staying in Fred and George’s room, or me and Ron’s room, or something like that, that’s why. We stayed here the rest of that summer, and the holiday afterwards, as well. 

“The Ministry cleared me of all charges, no matter how much the Minister at the time wanted to string me up. Your aunt helped out a lot with that, Susan,” he added. “I wish I could thank her.”

“I know,” said Susan. “She was just doing what was right.” 

“But even after I was cleared, things didn’t get any better,” he continued. “The Ministry found other ways to discredit us. The _Prophet_ , which is the mainstream wizard newspaper in England, did everything they could to make us into a joke, me and Dumbledore both. And, more importantly, the Ministry sent Umbridge to Hogwarts as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”

“Is that some kind of yearly gig, or something?” asked Dudley. “Seems like you had a new professor every year, and it’s always for that one job.” 

“Yeah, it was cursed for decades,” said Harry. “Literally. Voldemort actually came back to get the job before he really took power and, when he was refused, he jinxed it. No one had held it for more than a year since then. Umbridge was just one in a long line, but she was the worst of all of them up to that point. She did everything she could to discredit the Hogwarts' administration. The Ministry kept putting out more and more laws that gave her more and more power within the school. She started sacking professors who didn’t follow strict Ministry protocol, banned any club that didn’t suit her tastes, and punished people who didn’t follow her way of thinking. And her punishments were about as bad as we had seen at the time.” 

At this, Harry raised his right hand, showing them the scars that would never disappear. Dudley whistled softly under his breath. “Ouch,” he breathed. 

“Like I said,” Harry continued, lowering his hand, “it’s nothing compared to what came a few years later. But at the time she was as bad as it got. At the same time, it was our O.W.L. year. That’s a series of tests that fifth-years take in order to get into the higher-level classes. Umbridge refused to teach us practical magic, which we would need in the tests. She, along with the rest of the Ministry, was afraid that Dumbledore was forming an army to overthrow the government.

“At the same time, many of us knew that Voldemort had returned. So we did what we needed to do, both from a scholastic standpoint as well as for personal safety. We formed a defensive magic club under Umbridge’s nose. Dumbledore’s Army, we called it, although he had nothing to do with its foundation. I taught the members how to use practical magic, how to defend and how to attack. Susan was one of our initial recruits.” 

“It was bloody brilliant, too,” said Susan, her smile full of nostalgia. “Most fun I ever had at Hogwarts, even after we were caught.”

“Yeah, Umbridge found out about us, eventually,” he said. “But after she brought us to the attention of Dumbledore, he took full responsibility and vanished before he was arrested, leaving Umbridge as the Headmistress.” 

“She tried, God bless her little heart,” said Susan with sarcastic sweetness. “But we just had too much fun at her expense.”

“Around this time I was having strange dreams,” said Harry. “It turned out that I was able to see Voldemort’s thoughts, and I was led to believe that he was putting Sirius in danger.” 

“You could see his thoughts?” asked Petunia. “How did that happen?”

Harry sighed. “Okay, this is probably going to sound even stranger than the protection stuff,” he said. “But I’ll do my best. When Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on me, he… broke off a piece of his soul, which attached to me.” 

Dudley stared at him. “What.”

“I don’t really get it very much, either,” said Harry. “But it happened. And it gave me powers that others didn’t have. I was able to see his thoughts. I was able to see what he was seeing, feel what he was feeling. I was able to talk to snakes like he could.” 

“Oh! Oh!” Dudley was practically bouncing in his seat, pointing at Harry. “The zoo! Piers said that you were talking to that snake at the zoo!”

“Yeah, I was,” said Harry. “I didn’t know it at the time. I just thought he understood English. But, um, yeah, I can talk to snakes.” 

“Which is why a lot of people thought that he opened the Chamber of Secrets our second year,” said Susan. “Everyone knew that Slytherin was a Parselmouth, and when they found out that Harry could do the same, he became suspect number one.”

“What does snake sound like, anyway?” asked Dudley. 

“ _Something like this_ ,” Harry said in Parseltongue. Petunia stared at him with wide eyes, and Harry could see a shiver pass through Susan. Dudley appeared unimpressed.

“See, now you’re just making shit up,” he said. 

“Language, Dudley!”

“Sorry, Mum.”

“So, yeah, I could see what Voldemort was thinking,” said Harry. “And I had a particularly strong vision about him torturing Sirius in a room in the Ministry of Magic. So I was able to slip out of Hogwarts…” 

“…After Umbridge was taken care of,” said Susan with some bit of joy.

“Ron and Hermione came with me,” he said, “As did Ginny, Neville, and Luna. The six of us entered the Ministry, only to find out that we had been tricked into coming. It turns out that there’s a room in the Ministry’s basement that stores prophecies. They can only be touched by those for whom the prophecy was made, and since Voldemort couldn’t enter the building, he convinced me to go there by sending me the false vision about Sirius. He then sent some Death Eaters after us to collect the prophecy after I took it off the shelf. 

“We fought them as well as we could, and then some members of the Order arrived to fight back. That’s when Sirius died, trying to protect us. The prophecy was destroyed, as well, but after the battle, Dumbledore told it to me. The one that Trelawney had made about me and Voldemort all of those years ago. That’s when I learned about why Voldemort had killed my parents and tried to kill me. And that he marked me as his equal by giving me a part of his soul, and that one of us had to kill the other.”

“Wow,” said Dudley. “That had to be a kick in the teeth.” 

“It was a bit,” said Harry. “But not very much. I mean, Dumbledore put it the right way later. The prophecy doesn’t mean anything by itself. As soon as someone finds out about a prophecy it means that they can change it. Voldemort put too much stock into it and, because he did, he earned himself a mortal enemy. Even if I hadn’t heard about the prophecy, I knew that I wanted to kill him because he killed my parents, and because his lackeys killed Cedric and Sirius.”

“So you knew you had to fight him,” said Dudley. 

“I knew I had to fight him, but I didn’t know how,” said Harry. “Since he was, you know, pretty much immortal. But Dumbledore taught me how to do it. My sixth year I learned about Horcruxes, the Darkest, most dangerous magic that can be performed. When someone kills someone else, their soul tears. If someone has the right spells, the right conditions, they would capture that piece of soul in an object. As long as that object remains intact, the person can never die.”

“So it could be an object, or a person?” asked Petunia. “Like you?” 

“Like me,” said Harry. “But I didn’t know it at the time. Didn’t know it till almost the end, because Dumbledore didn’t want to tell me just then. But, anyway, when the soul is captured, a Horcrux is created. The Darkest wizards in history who created Horcruxes only made one. Two at the very most. Voldemort created seven, tearing his soul into eight pieces.”

“Bloody hell,” muttered Dudley. 

“He made the first one when he killed his father,” said Harry. “Put it into Morfin Gaunt’s ring, the last heirloom of Cadmus Peverell. The second was the diary that had possessed Ginny.  He used the death of Myrtle for that one. 

“He loved symbolism, and went for items that were connected to Hogwarts. The third was Slytherin’s locket, which he discovered had been purchased by the shop he worked for in Knockturn Alley and sold to a rich woman named Hepzibah Smith. He took the locket from her, along with a cup that had once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. He killed Hepzibah and used her murder to turn the cup into a Horcrux, and murdered some drifter to do the same with the locket. The fifth was the Diadem of Ravenclaw, which was a kind of tiara. He found it in Albania and killed a peasant there. 

“The sixth one was Nagini, a giant snake that followed him everywhere and did a lot of his dirty work. He killed the caretaker of his family’s old house to put a piece of his soul into her. And then there was me, the one he didn’t know about.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t even have to look at your notes for that,” said Petunia. 

“I had it memorized pretty early,” said Harry. “And I drilled it into my head after Snape killed Dumbledore.”

“Sev…” Petunia gasped. “Sev killed Dumbledore?” 

“I thought he was a good guy,” said Dudley. “Turned a new leaf after your mum died.”

“He… he did, to a point,” said Harry. “After my mum died, Snape came to Dumbledore to blame him for her death, that he hadn’t done everything that he could to protect her. Dumbledore said that Voldemort did as he chose, and that my dad had put his trust in the wrong man. But that I had survived. He asked Snape to protect me in lieu of my mother. Snape came on as the Potions professor at Hogwarts. When I showed up, he loathed me from the beginning. I reminded him too much of my father. But he had made a vow to Dumbledore, and he did what he could to make sure that I survived and that Voldemort would pay for murdering my mother.  

“After Voldemort came back, Snape played both sides. He was sent by Dumbledore to Voldemort to pretend that he was always on his side, and that he would stay on at Hogwarts and in the Order as a spy for the Death Eaters. He did a lot of dirty work for them, all the while receiving orders from Dumbledore that not even the other members of the Order knew about.

“The biggest one came in that sixth year. Voldemort had charged the son of one of his servants with the duty to kill Dumbledore.” 

“Malfoy…” said Susan.

“Malfoy,” Harry nodded. “Draco Malfoy, the son of Lucius, who had given Ginny the diary and who had also led the Death Eaters that had fought us at Ministry.” 

“Too many names,” drawled Dudley, looking a bit lost again.

“Sorry,” said Harry. “At the same time that Draco was doing this, Dumbledore had become infected by a really nasty curse. He had found one of the Horcruxes, the ring that had come from Voldemort’s uncle, and it infected him a curse that would kill him within a year. So, since he wanted to protect Draco from having to kill, and because he wanted Snape to remain in the good graces of Voldemort, Dumbledore ordered Snape to kill him before Draco could. So he did, in the full view of Draco and some other Death Eaters. And then he ran off, leaving the rest of us to believe that he had turned traitor.” 

“Something which we all thought was confirmed when Voldemort and one of his puppet government lackeys overthrew the Ministry and Hogwarts that summer and installed Snape as the new Headmaster.” Susan said all of this with a shake of the head. “That was a rough year.”

“But we didn’t know about it,” said Harry. “Ron, Hermione, and myself, that is. After Dumbledore died, I decided to skip my seventh year and search for the remaining Horcruxes. And they came along, whether I wanted them to or not.” 

“I always thought you were too independent for your own good,” said Susan. “You should have seen Ginny after you had left. She put up a good front, pretending that she was happy you broke up with her, that she thought you were an ass, so that the Death Eaters couldn’t pry her for information. But you knew that it was all smoke and mirrors.”

“So you two were dating by that point?” asked Petunia. 

“We had dated for a few weeks at the end of my sixth year,” Harry explained. “But I ended things with her before I left to hunt Horcruxes. She wasn’t of age, and I didn’t want to make her a target. I’m actually glad that she did what you said, Susan. Pretended that she hated me, and all.”

“I don’t think it was _all_ pretend,” said Susan carefully. 

“It kept her safe,” said Harry, nodding. “That’s all that mattered.”

“And Ron and Hermione?” asked Petunia. 

“Didn’t start dating till after the Horcruxes were all found,” said Harry. “Although it almost happened, I don’t know, a dozen times before that? They were just too stubborn, I guess.”

“Are we done playing Mystery Date?” asked Dudley, who Harry was pleased to see was really getting into the story. “So you all went off to find the Horcruxes.” 

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Some had already been destroyed. The diary was gone. I had destroyed it in my second year. Dumbledore destroyed the ring soon after he was cursed by it. That left the locket, the cup, the diadem, the snake, and me. I won’t bore you with the details about how we found them…”

“Ah, come on!” said Dudley. “You’re going to skip all the action film crap?” 

“It pretty much is action film crap,” said Harry. “Not anything that I could really describe in detail. Like I said, read Hermione’s notes. She gets almost too detailed at some points, but it’s in there between all of the notes about her arguments with Ron.”

Dudley gazed at Harry with puppy-dog eyes, and Harry shook his head. 

“Alright, fine,” he said shortly. “We escaped from Privet Drive after you three left. As soon as we took off, and as soon as you Apparated to Heathrow, breaking your protection on me, we were attacked by Death Eaters.”

“The Minister had mentioned that someone died that night,” said Petunia. 

“Two, actually,” said Harry. “Mad-Eye Moody died. So did Hedwig, my owl.”

Dudley glanced over at the owl in the corner, studying it more closely. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess that is a different one, isn’t it?” 

“That’s Maximillian,” said Harry. “Max for short. It was tough for me to replace Hedwig, but owls are pretty much a necessity in any family in the wizarding world.

“Anyway, after that summer we left to search for the Horcruxes. We found the locket in the Ministry of Magic. It had been taken from Voldemort by Regulus Black, Sirius’ brother, and hidden here by Kreacher at Grimmauld Place until it was stolen and given to Dolores Umbridge. The three of us used Polyjuice Potion, which makes the drinker look like someone else, to break into the Ministry and take the locket from her, and we used a magic sword to destroy it.” 

Harry decided that, despite wanting to tell a good tale, he didn’t want to get into the situation with Ron and the locket. There were just some things that a Promise Keeper couldn’t break. If Hermione mentioned it her notes, that might be one thing, but Harry was good on his word.

“The cup was hidden in Gringotts, a goblin-run bank in Diagon Alley,” he said instead. “Again, we broke in. We found the cup, rode a giant dragon out of the bank, and destroyed the cup.” 

“Woah,” Dudley breathed.

“The diadem was at Hogwarts,” he said, realizing he was nearing the end, and some of the tough parts. “As was the final battle. Voldemort hadn’t known that we were searching for the Horcruxes until after we had found the cup. By then, he had discovered that the ring and the locket had both been destroyed, so, in his mind, the last two Horcruxes were the snake by his side and the diadem at the school. He sent his army to the school, and the school fought back while we searched for the Horcrux.” 

“A lot of people died that night,” said Susan. “After word came out that Voldemort was coming, the professors fought back against Snape and the other Death Eaters that had been in place in the school. The rest of Dumbledore’s Army returned, along with the Order and some of the townspeople in Hogsmeade and around the country. We lost fifty on our side, and I don’t know how many on theirs.”

“George’s twin brother died that night,” said Harry. “So did Teddy’s parents. And Snape was killed by Voldemort’s snake.” 

“Why?” asked Petunia. “Did Voldemort find out that Sev was one of the good guys?”

“I wish it was like that,” said Harry. “But Voldemort…” 

How do I describe this? Harry thought.  _Do_ I even describe this? He wanted to tell Petunia and Dudley what was important. But could he explain the Resurrection Stone, about how he walked to his death with the forms of his parents and family by his side? In the end, how much did they need to know about the Deathly Hallows?

“I hope this doesn’t get very complex,” he said, deciding that some information was better than none. “Before he died, Dumbledore was in the possession of a powerful wand called the Elder Wand. Only the person who mastered it could wield its full potential. And by mastered I mean that you have to defeat the person using it in order to gain its power. After Dumbledore died, he was entombed with the wand. Voldemort broke into the tomb and took it. But after he did, he discovered that having it wasn’t enough. 

“In order to defeat me, he knew that he had to defeat the wand’s owner. He believed that Snape was that owner, because he had killed Dumbledore. So he killed Snape in order to gain full possession of the wand.”

Petunia shook her head sadly. “Poor Sev…” 

“I found him before he died,” said Harry. “And that’s when showed me everything. That’s when I learned about his connection to you and my mother. About the oath that he made to Dumbledore. Why he killed Dumbledore. I learned that he had helped us all of those years, even though I thought he was no good.

“And I also learned from Snape about the Horcrux that was inside me. And how I had to get rid of it.” 

“How?” asked Dudley.

Harry shook his head. “I…  I don’t know if I want to talk about it,” he said, suddenly very uncomfortable. From his side, he saw that Susan had the same look in her face. She knew what had happened as much as anyone else at Hogwarts that night. 

“He sacrificed himself for us,” said Susan, knowing that it had to be said. “He walked up to Voldemort and willingly died to protect us.”

“You died?” Dudley gasped. Harry nodded. 

“I was tethered to this world because of the blood that was flowing through Voldemort’s body,” said Harry.  “And because of the soul that I shared with him. When he killed me, he destroyed the piece of his soul that was inside me. But I was able to come back.”

“We all thought that he was dead,” Susan explained quietly. “Hagrid brought him to the school, with Voldemort saying that it was all over, that Harry was dead, and that he was in charge. It was…” She shook her head. Harry was glad that she was able to find the words that he couldn’t find himself, even if they were both speechless about it. 

Harry decided that it was best to press on instead. “After that, things went insane. Neville killed Nagini, destroying the last Horcrux. I pulled myself back up and fought Voldemort for the last time. And I won.”

“But didn’t you say earlier that you didn’t kill him?” asked Petunia. “That he had killed himself?” 

“He didn’t have control of the Elder Wand,” Harry explained. “He had been misled. He thought that, in order to control the wand, you had to kill the owner. But that wasn’t the truth. You only had to defeat the owner. And the night Dumbledore died, he was disarmed by Draco Malfoy. And later, I defeated Draco by disarming him. So, in truth, I was the owner of the Elder Wand. I still am. But Voldemort didn’t know that. He cast a Killing Curse at me, and, since the Wand wouldn’t kill its true owner, it deflected the curse back at him. Voldemort was hit by his own spell. And, because there were no more Horcruxes, he was no longer immortal. He died, and he stayed dead.”

Harry looked around the table. Susan was nodding, but he could see that Dudley and Petunia were still completely enthralled by the story. 

“And, um…” he said, flipping through his notes to see that he had talked about everything, “that’s… that’s it, I guess.”

Petunia shook her head in wonder, and Dudley took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to need Hermione’s notes after all,” he said, reaching for the huge pile. “I think I probably understood about half of that.” 

“I never realized you went through so much,” said Petunia. “And at so young of an age, too. You were, what, seventeen when this all ended?”

“The Battle of Hogwarts was fought in the spring of 1998,” said Harry. “I was seventeen.” 

“Amazing,” she breathed. “If Vernon had known half of what you just told us…”

“He’d still be a git,” said Dudley, absently flipping through Hermione’s papers. “And he still would have said everything that he had said at the reception, except that he probably would have hoped that Harry had died instead of Voldemort.” 

Petunia Evans sighed sadly. “I suppose you’re right,” she said.

“You should write a book,” said Susan as she stood up, taking the dessert plates to the sink. “Have you ever thought about publishing your memoirs?” 

“My memoirs?” said Harry. “I’m twenty-one. I don’t think I’m ready for my memoirs yet. Besides, I’m a lousy writer.”

“Well, you could get someone to write them for you. Hermione, maybe?” 

“Hermione could write them, but I doubt they’d read well. The only time I’ve ever seen her with a book that wasn’t some sort of textbook or educational reading was when she was reading _Beedle the Bard_. And even then, I think she wouldn’t have touched it if it weren’t for the runic translations.”

“Well, I still think it’s something you should think about,” said Susan. “I think people would want to know your story.” 

Harry sighed. “I suppose,” he said. “I just don’t know if I’m ready to tell it yet. I like my privacy.”

“There’s a fine line between privacy and mystery,” said Petunia. “Sometimes the public gets more interested in a person that they don’t know anything about. Once someone opens up to them, they become boring. Personally, I don’t think it’s an idea you should drop without giving it some thought first.” 

“I will, Aunt Petunia,” Harry assured her.  _Maybe sometime down the line,_ he thought.  _If enough people want to read it. After I’m settled with Ginny. After we have kids, and after they’re grown up and out of any danger._

_But who’d want to read about me?_


	16. Four Years Later: Purple Plastic Ninjas

Four Years Later:

Purple Plastic Ninjas

 

 

 

 

The Professor walked into a bar.

 

_Sounds like the opening line of some bad joke,_ Neville Longbottom thought as he stepped into the Hog’s Head. As usual, the smell of ale, vomit, and goats smacked him across the face. No matter how often he and his friends would come in here, Neville didn’t think that was an odor he’d ever get used to.

 

The pub was almost completely empty. This didn’t surprise Neville very much. It was a Friday, sure, but it was only ten in the morning, and those who weren’t working at this time of day were too drawn by the warm July sun to be cooped up in here. Why have a pint in here when you can crack open a bottle out on your front lawn?

 

Neville’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. It was more complete than usual, due in no small part to the small number of burning candles and the lack of a fire in the fireplace. It was July, after all. A big place like this gets hot enough in a heat wave without having to deal with open flames.

 

The Hog’s Head had the usual clientele, the ones that would be here on a July afternoon were the same ones as on New Year’s Eve. Most people in Neville’s position, or that of any of his friends, would have thought it insane to come in here. Why hang out in a dark, dank pub full of ne’er-do-wells and social outcasts when the Three Broomsticks was a much more lively, hospitable pub down the street?

 

Neville knew better, though. Probably more than any of his friends, who also made it a point to stop in at the Head whenever they happened to be in Hogsmeade. The Hog’s Head had been the place where Dumbledore’s Army began. But it was also Neville’s lifeblood in his seventh year. He would have been dead or worse, along with who knows how many students, if it weren’t for this pub and its owner, who shuffled up to him as he sat down on a rickety stool. He was off-putting to most, but Neville recognized a kind face and a keen eye when he saw one.

 

“Professor,” the barkeep said, nodding in subdued greeting.

 

“Ab, you don’t have to call me that,” said Neville.

 

“Why not?” asked Aberforth Dumbledore with a small smile. “It’s what you are, isn’t it?”

 

“Well, I guess,” said Neville. “I just… it’ll take me a while to get used to the title.”

 

“Whatever you say, _Professor_ Longbottom,” growled Aberforth, the glint of a joke still in his voice. “What’ll it be?”

 

“Nothing for now,” said Neville, scanning the room, trying to squint into the darkened corners. “I’m waiting for someone.”

 

“She’s upstairs.”

 

Neville turned back around to face Aberforth. “She is?”

 

“She said she needed to get some work done,” said Aberforth. “I figured she was in too nice of a getup and in too frazzled of a mood. A brawl breaks out every few hours or so and I didn’t think she was in a position for me to play the odds.”

 

“I can go up, right?”

 

“You buying anything?”

 

“Butterbeer?”

 

Aberforth snorted. “You kids,” he said. “The Weasley boy’s the only one to ever get something worth it when he’s in here. How am I supposed to make a profit?”

 

“Hey, I get some ale and firewhisky occasionally,” Neville said indignantly as Aberforth set the bottle on the table. “I just have some work I need to get done today, too.”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” said Aberforth. “Don’t watch yourself, this toddler shit’s going to be fifty Galleons a bottle next time you show up.”

 

“I’ll be sure to bring a bigger purse,” said Neville as he walked toward the stairs.

 

“It’ll rot your teeth,” Aberforth yelled after him.

 

“I won’t swish it around in my mouth, then!”

 

“Keep the hanky panky to a minimum, would ya?” Aberforth got in the last word. Neville responded with a gesture that got the younger Dumbledore roaring with laughter as he closed the door between the pub and the second floor.

 

\---------

 

She sat at a small table as Neville entered the room. There was a book open in front of her, which she leaned over with a level of concentration that Neville remembered from years of seeing her in the Gryffindor common room or the library. A shiny blue bag ( _Plastic?_ Neville thought, not having seen many plastic bags in his life in the wizard world) was leaning against her chair.

 

Neville sat down in a chair across from her. She was mumbling something to herself as she studied the book.

 

“Hey, Hermione,” Neville said quietly, and Hermione Weasley yelped in surprise.

 

“Oh God!” she gasped, putting her hand on her chest. “Neville! I didn’t even hear you come in.”

 

 “Sorry,” said Neville. “I thought I made enough noise.”

 

Hermione shook her head. “You might have,” she said, putting a leather bookmark into her book and closing it. “I was just studying. Guess I lost track of everything.”

 

“I know,” said Neville, smiling. “That’s usually how it works with you.”

 

“I have a big meeting in an hour,” Hermione said, pulling a pocket watch from her dress robes and reading it. “Scratch that… forty-five minutes.”

 

“Well, we can make this quick, then,” said Neville, cracking open his bottle. “I can just take my stuff and be on my way.”

 

“No!” said Hermione quickly, reaching across the table and patting his arm. “No, no hurry at all. I Flooed Kingsley when I got here, he’s setting up a special connection from this fireplace for me.”  

 

Neville looked at the hearth. Things hadn’t changed since the last time he was in this room. Sirius Black’s mirror still stood on the mantle, with the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore smiling from the wall above it.  _I wonder if the passage to the Room of Requirement is still there,_ he thought.  _Hell, I wonder if the Room of Requirement even_ exists.  _Just how powerful is Fiendfyre, anyway?_

 

“If you’re sure,” said Neville. “I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

 

“Neville, I haven’t spoken to you since last summer,” said Hermione warmly. “There’s no rush. Really.”

 

“Brilliant,” Neville said with a grin, and reached across the table. He put his hand on top of Hermione’s book and spun it around so the title was facing him.

 

“ _The Oxford Hindi-English Dictionary_ ,” he read aloud.

 

“I have a meeting in Agra,” Hermione explained, pulling the book back to her. “A large situation briefing between English and Indian officials, both from the wizard and Muggle communities.”

 

“Still working with the anti-terrorism unit?”

 

“That’s right,” said Hermione. “There’s some intelligence information that’s suggesting some English wizards, immigrants from India, are planning some attacks on Muggles in their hometown. And, of course, now that I’ve told you that, I’m going to have to kill you.”

 

“I’ll get my will prepared,” Neville chuckled.

 

Hermione, however, remained straight-faced. “No killing,” she said. “But I can trust you when I say that that information never leaves this room, right?”

 

“Of course,” said Neville, shaking his head in wonder. “You really are in deep, aren’t you?”

 

“They’ve been raising me up the ranks pretty quickly,” said Hermione. “That’s probably why I’m one of the representatives at this meeting instead of Harry. He does good work, but being a figurehead can only get you so far so fast. As much as the Indian Ministry would love to see him there, he wouldn’t help get the particulars across.”

 

“Still,” said Neville, “not bad for a girl who’s only been out of school three years.”

 

“Yeah,” said Hermione, absently flipping through the pages of her book. “It’s nerve-wracking, though. Another year or two and I’ll have to start dealing with the possibility of Obliviation if I ever decide to get out.”

 

Neville whistled softly. “I didn’t realize that they did that.”

 

“It makes perfect sense,” Hermione shrugged. “If you want to keep your information secure, there’s no better way to do it than by just deleting it from someone’s memory when it’s no longer needed.”

 

“Kinda defeats the purpose of intelligence, doesn’t it?”

 

“They have other ways of keeping the information where they need it,” said Hermione. “Ways that don’t involve the keeper wandering around the street, open to any Legilimens or Death Eater with a grudge. You know that as much as I do, Neville. You were in the Hall of Prophecies. Memories can be kept under lock and key if they want them held badly enough.”

 

Neville nodded. “And once again I assume that this information should never be uttered anywhere else?”

 

“It’s safe enough in case anyone decides to pry you,” said Hermione. “But, just to be careful, don’t go mentioning this conversation to anyone, right?”

 

“Right,” Neville said as he pulled Hermione’s book back toward him. “So you’re brushing up on your Hindi?”

 

“For the meeting, yes.”

 

“You do know that it will probably be conducted in English.”

 

“Just on an official level,” said Hermione shortly, tugging the book away, and putting it on her lap. “That doesn’t mean a little Hindi before and after the meeting wouldn’t make a good impression.”

 

“Do you even _know_ any Hindi?”

 

“A little bit,” said Hermione. “I taught myself third year.”

 

Neville’s eyes widened. “Your third year?”

 

“Just a little…”

 

“The same year that you were taking double classes with the Time-Turner?”

 

“A girl can’t have her hobbies?” said Hermione. At one point, her situation with the Time-Turner was top secret. But since the supply was destroyed and, as far as she knew, still never replaced, she had been a little looser on the topic over the years.

 

“Learning a second language is a hobby?”

 

“Fifth language, actually,” said Hermione. “Runes is considered a language, plus I taught myself French before my family went on holiday there. And I learned Bulgarian when I was dating Viktor.” She blushed slightly at this last comment.

 

“I hope you don’t mind if I don’t do the math on that one,” said Neville.

 

“Fair enough,” said Hermione. “And it was quite helpful, actually, the Hindi. I had loads of private conversations with the Patil twins over the years.” She grinned wickedly. “Parvati and I even planned the whole Cormac McLaggen fiasco right in front of Ron and Lavender; they didn’t even know we were talking about them.”

 

_A woman scorned,_ thought Neville with no small amount of wonder. “So how is Ron, anyway?” he asked, taking a swig of his butterbeer to wash out the taste of fear.

 

“He’s doing fine.”

 

“Still working with George?”

 

“For now…”

 

“You don’t sound very happy with the situation.”

 

“Well, of course I’m not,” Hermione sighed. “I know he has potential to do really great things. To make something of himself. But right now he seems perfectly content to live out the rest of his days just getting along.”

 

“It’s a family business, though,” Neville said. “You can understand why he wants to work there, right?”

 

“I can,” she said. “But I don’t think Ron wants anything else. And it’s not exactly a family business. A family business is passed along from generation to generation. But it’s his brother’s store. Ron will never be able to go any higher up the ladder than he is now. He’ll never be able to _own_ it, or manage it. It will always be George’s store, until he hands it off to his son or daughter, if they ever come about.”

 

“I’m sure he’ll start itching to move on one of these days,” said Neville. “We’re young still.”

 

“I hope so,” said Hermione. “I make plenty of money where I’m at, but it would still be nice to have a bit of a larger nest egg if we ever start a family.”

 

“Well, he could do the homeschooling thing with them,” said Neville.

 

Hermione looked at Neville with a skeptical eyebrow. “Do you really think I’d trust Ron to teach my children?”

 

“Good point,” Neville said with a smile. “So you’re hoping he finds something decent and profitable so you can teach them yourself? You seem a natural for it.”

 

“I don’t know,” said Hermione with a sigh. “I’m not sure of I could see myself dropping my career to sit at home.”

 

“Well, what’s the other option?” he said. “Muggle school?”

 

“It’s been discussed,” she said. “It’s not that bad. I mean, it worked for Harry and me. We still got along fine at Hogwarts with a Muggle education.”

 

“I suppose that’s true,” said Neville, not sure he could imagine learning his reading and writing from anyone but his Gran.  _Just goes to show the difference between wizards and Muggles,_ he thought.

 

“It’s a bridge we’ll cross when we get to it,” said Hermione. “We’re still not ready to start a family, so that particular subject is a long way off.”

 

“So how is Harry doing, anyway?” asked Neville.

 

“You haven’t seen him yet?” asked Hermione.

 

“I only got back on Sunday,” Neville explained. “Hogwarts professors take about a week after the students leave to get themselves sorted out, make sure everything’s packed away and cleaned up. I spent a couple more days with Pomona so she could make sure that I was comfortable enough in the position to be on my own next year. She wasn’t sure if the new Headmaster or Headmistress would be okay with a supervised Herbology professor, so she wanted to make sure I could assure her of my independence.”

 

“So McGonagall’s definitely retiring?”

 

“There’s some talk going around the staffroom about a retirement party for her sometime next month. Interested?”

 

“Definitely,” said Hermione. “Send us an invitation if it extends beyond the faculty. I’m sure Harry and Ginny would want one, too.”

 

“Great,” said Neville. “But, yeah, I haven’t had much time. I got back on Sunday, spent the whole day unpacking. Spent Monday with Gran, met up with Luna on Tuesday, and spent Thursday with Gran again.”

 

“What about Wednesday?”

 

“What about it?”

 

“You skipped it entirely.”

 

Neville turned red. “I got together with Luna on Tuesday,” he said. “And didn’t leave her till Thursday morning. I decided you wouldn’t want graphic details about those two days, is all.”

 

“Oh!” said Hermione, her face turning red to match Neville’s. However, she couldn’t help smiling. “I think that’s great, though. Luna’s been talking about you coming home ever since the last Hogsmeade weekend.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” said Neville. “We’ve been owling each other a lot. Having a few Floo conversations whenever Xeno’s not around. And even when I got together with her during the Hogsmeade trips, it still had to be fairly public. This was our first time that we’ve actually had alone since last summer.”

 

_And one of these days, I’ll get up the courage to actually leave the grounds on the nights when I’m not patrolling._

 

“Don’t worry about the graphic details, either,” said Hermione with a grin. “I haven’t spoken to Luna since your little get-together. I’m sure she’ll give us more than we want to know when she comes over this weekend.”

 

“Well, I’ll be with her,” Neville said. “So I’ll try to keep her discussions from veering into explicit.  I can’t guarantee uncomfortable, but explicit I can fight.”

 

“You’ll be home for a month?”

 

“Pretty much,” said Neville. “I’ll have to take a few days to visit Muggle-borns. But otherwise, yeah, I’m free till mid-August. And I’m planning to spend as much time with her as I can while I’m off the chain. She’s going to be coming with me to Grimmauld Place tomorrow, too.”

 

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot!” said Hermione, leaning over to the ground and picking up the plastic bag and handing it to Neville. “Here’s the birthday present.”

 

“Thanks,” Neville replied, reading the front of the bag. “ _Toys R Us_?”

 

“It’s a Muggle toy store,” Hermione explained as Neville pulled the package out of the bag. “They spell it that way on purpose. You have your own wrapping paper, though, right? Teddy’s only four, but he still might recognize ours.”

 

“Yeah, I can wrestle something together.” Neville examined the toy, encased inside a plastic bubble and taped to a piece of cardboard backing. “It’s a purple plastic ninja.”

 

“It’s a Power Ranger,” Hermione clarified. “And otherwise I have no idea.”

 

“And it’s a Muggle toy?” he asked with some confusion.

 

“He and Caroline watch it on the telly whenever Andromeda or the Potters are visiting my parents. It doesn’t matter if it’s Muggle or wizard. If Caroline likes it, then Teddy likes it.”

 

Neville chuckled. “Your sister already has an admirer?”

 

“They’re four,” said Hermione defensively. “One minute they’re playing house and talking about getting married, the next minute they’re chucking Duplos at each other or smearing pudding on their faces.”

 

“Sounds like a grown-up relationship to me,” said Neville. “But I suppose it could be worse. Caroline’s into ninjas. At least she has some tomboy in her. I don’t know how Harry would react if Teddy started getting into ballerinas and fairy princesses.”

 

“If Teddy started wearing his hair pink, I don’t think Harry would mind that much. It would remind him of Tonks.”

 

“Yeah,” said Neville uncomfortably. The two fell into silence.

 

“Anyway,” Hermione said, clearing her throat, “Harry and Andromeda went through what Teddy got for his birthday, and this was one of the things he didn’t have. They thought he might like it.”

 

“Good,” said Neville quickly. “I’ll get it wrapped and give it to him tomorrow. Hopefully he doesn’t mind the belated birthday present.”

 

“They’re four,” Hermione repeated. “A toy’s a toy, no matter when it comes.”

 

“Tomorrow’s going to be weird enough without a cranky little boy,” said Neville. “I’m meeting the infamous cousin for the first time.”

 

“Oh, that’s right,” said Hermione. “Dudley and Susan are going to be there.”

 

“Anything I should know?” asked Neville. “Luna doesn’t have anything bad to say about him, but she doesn’t have anything bad to say about anyone. Nothing I should be concerned about? No tusks? No random spoutings of profanity or projectile vomit?”

 

“Nothing like that, strangely enough,” said Hermione. “I only met him once before the wedding, but he seems like a completely different person than the one that Harry described to me over the years.”

 

“How so?”

 

“He’s nice.”

 

“Huh,” said Neville. “That has to be strange.”

 

“I still don’t think Harry’s completely used to it,” said Hermione. “We’ve been to dinner at Harry and Ginny’s a few times with Petunia or Dudley, and Harry still flinches on occasion. But things seemed to have changed. Ron and I have even been out with Dudley and Susan for drinks on occasion. Petunia, too. They both seem perfectly fine. Really interested in making amends, getting to know our world in a positive light. And Susan just adores Dudley. They’re actually talking about moving in together now that Hannah and Ernie are engaged.”

 

Neville’s jaw dropped. “Get out of here,” he breathed. “They are?”

 

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” she said. “They were dating through most of school.”

 

“No one tells me anything,” he sighed.

 

“Well, it just happened last month. And you do know about Percy and Penelope, right?”

 

“Ginny mentioned it in one of her owls,” said Neville. “October, right?”

 

“See?” Hermione said, smiling knowingly. “We do tell you things.”

 

“Just enough to appease me,” said Neville, winking. “So, okay, Dudley. He’s still a Dursley, right?”

 

“Right,” said Hermione. “Petunia took back her maiden _Evans_ , but Dudley’s still Dursley, even though he’s thought about getting it legally changed on more than one occasion.”

 

“That bad, huh?”

 

“They’ve gotten a few letters from him,” said Hermione sadly. “Each one worse than the last, especially now that Dudley and Susan are a couple. Dudley opened the first few, and then wished that he had burned them instead.”

 

“What did they say?”

 

“Oh, you know,” said Hermione. “Blaming us for everything that happened to his family. Ordering Dudley to leave his mum with the freaks and come back to America where it’s safe. You know, just a constant stream of hate and vitriol about wizards and magic, and even more about James, Lily, Harry, and Petunia.”

 

“Bloody hell...” Neville breathed.

 

“It could be worse, though.   He had been screaming about going to the press when he left the reception, but I don’t think he has. Savage and Proudfoot went after him, so I think Kingsley ordered some memory modification on him.”

 

“Do you think they’re keeping watch on him?”

 

“They might be,” said Hermione. “He might not have gone to the press, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not going to talk about us to someone else. I have a feeling he’d be spouting off on us to Marge or to whoever would listen if the government wasn’t keeping _some_ pressure on him.”

 

Neville shook his head. “But it could be worse…” he repeated.

 

“Scrimgeour’s government would have tossed him into Azkaban or just had him killed. Thicknesse wouldn’t have considered the first choice. So, yes, it could be worse.”

 

At this, Hermione pulled out her watch and sighed as she took another look. “Okay, I have to get going.”

 

“Not a problem,” said Neville, standing up.

 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, standing with him. “I want to stay longer, but…”

 

“It’s fine, really,” he said, giving her a hug. “It’s good to see you again.”

 

“It’s good to see you, too,” she said, hugging him back. “And I’ll see you Sunday, right?”

 

“What’s for dinner?”

 

“Probably just pizza,” Hermione said, chuckling. “Ron and I are still learning how to cook.”

 

“Pizza’s fine.”

 

Hermione walked to the fireplace and took a flowerpot from the mantle. “Six o’clock?”

 

“Perfect,” said Neville, picking up the plastic bag.

 

“I’ll see you then,” said Hermione, throwing a handful of powder into the fireplace and stepping in.

 

“See you then,” Neville replied, waving goodbye. Hermione and Ariana both waved back.

 

“Taj Mahal!” Hermione said loudly, and disappeared in a burst of flame.

 

Neville pulled the toy out of the bag again and studied it.

 

_Power Ranger?_ he thought to himself.  _I have no idea what this thing is. But I knew what Muggle toys were when I was growing up. Does this mean I’m getting old?_

 

“Oh, please, not yet,” he muttered to himself as he stepped out the door.

 

\---------

 

The fire sprung to life in a secret room of the Taj Mahal in Agra, India. Hermione Weasley stepped out to find Kingsley Shacklebolt and Percy Weasley waiting for her.

 

“Good morning, Hermione,” said Kingsley, adjusting a stack of papers under his arm to shake her hand.

 

“Sorry I’m late, sir,” said Hermione, adjusting her robes as she stepped out of the Floo.

 

“The Indian Ministry officials are waiting upstairs,” said Percy. “And the Muggle representatives are en route.”

 

“Shall we go upstairs?” said Kingsley, motioning toward the door. “Or do you need a few moments to prepare?”

 

“No, I’m fine,” said Hermione, once again feeling the butterflies in her stomach that she felt before every test. With a nod, Kingsley and Percy walked through the door, and Hermione followed close behind.

 

_Back to work._


	17. Five Years Later: Harpy v Vulture

  
Author's notes: Rowling’s fairly vague about this sport she came up with. I’m doing what I can to clean it up, and to make some of its systems a little more relevant. If you think I tweaked too much, sorry.  It's also my first real experience writing kids.  So I apologize in advance  


* * *

Five Years Later

Harpy versus Vulture

 

 

 

As Harry Potter walked through the bowels of the stadium, pushing his way through throngs of people, dressed in all the colors of the rainbow, he couldn’t help but be amazed at just how quickly this idea had grown in the past two years. 

 

_Amazing what can come from two people arguing over drinks_ , he thought, glancing down at his ticket. They were on the right level, but still a few sections off. 

 

“Hold my hand tight, Teddy,” he said, glancing down at the boy and squeezing his hand. “There’s a lot of people, and I don’t want you to get lost.” 

 

“Okay, Harry,” said Teddy Lupin, who appeared to be both intimidated and enthralled by the sights and sounds that were surrounding him as they walked past food and souvenir carts. 

 

_And he hasn’t even seen the pitch yet,_ Harry thought, grinning. 

 

“Hold my hand tight, Dudley,” a voice said from behind them. “There’s a lot of people, and…” 

 

“Oh, very funny,” said Dudley Dursley, unlocking his hand from Susan Bones’ and gently pinching the back of her neck. “You’re a laugh riot, you know that?” 

 

“Well, I aim to please,” she teased, grabbing the pair of Omnioculars strapped around Dudley’s neck and pulling him in for a quick kiss. 

 

“Watch it, kids,” said Harry, “there’s a child present.” 

 

Harry looked down at Teddy, who responded to Susan’s kiss with a look of disgust.

 

 “Blech,” he said, sticking out his tongue. 

 

“See?” Harry said. “You’re making him sick.” 

 

“I’m hungry,” said Dudley, looking at the piles of pies and chips behind one of the counters. 

 

 “Match starts in ten minutes, and we’re almost there,” said Harry.  "We're probably better off finding our seats first, and then coming back out if we have time." 

 

“Hey, am I allowed to buy souvenirs?” Dudley asked as the four continued to squirm their way through the crowds. “What’s the Muggle rules on that?” 

 

“I’m not sure,” Harry admitted. “I suppose you could get whatever you want, just so long as you don’t wear it around Muggles.” 

 

“Might be difficult explaining who the Vratsa Vultures are down at the pub,” said Susan. 

 

“Might be difficult explaining to Ginny why I’m wearing _anything_ Vratsa Vultures,” Dudley smirked. “Last thing I want is her broomstick shoved up my…” 

 

“Kids!” Susan said quickly, and Dudley quieted down. 

 

Harry laughed. “Ginny doesn’t have a major issue with Vratsa,” he said. “If you wore anything but Holyhead, she’d probably only use the wand. Unless you’re wearing Caerphilly’s colors.” 

 

“What happens then?” 

 

“Keep away from the goalposts.” 

 

At this, Susan burst into reluctant laughter. Teddy giggled, too, and Harry _really_ hoped that his godson didn’t get that joke yet. If he did, Harry would have to start questioning the time that the boy spent with Dudley, Ron, or George. 

 

“Buy a poster or a banner, if you want,” said Susan after calming down. “You can hang it in your room.” 

 

“Right,” said Dudley, nodding his head. “For my room…” 

 

Susan and Dudley had been living together for almost a year, and from what Harry could figure out, Dudley’s “room” meant the place where he kept his old bed and what little Muggle equipment that could survive in a wizard neighborhood. Most of Dudley’s old toys, like his computer and stereo, were pawned off. However, after hearing about a true Muggle moving into wizard territory, Arthur Weasley convinced Dudley to donate some of his gear to Arthur’s Muggle-obsessed hobby. Three months later, Arthur had presented him with his television and XBox, both converted to run without electricity and without the fear of frying in the harsh magical atmosphere. It couldn’t pick up television signals, and he could never have cable or satellite television. But as long as he could play Splinter Cell, Dudley was content. 

 

 

“Harry?” Teddy said, tugging Harry’s hand. “I want a Smitch.” 

 

Harry smiled. “A _Smitch_ , huh?” Teddy nodded. “Well, I suppose we could get you something on the way out. I don’t know if you should have a Snitch, though. Your grandmother would be mad if it got loose.” 

 

“But I _want_ one!” 

 

“Well,” Harry thought aloud, “How about this? If you’re a good boy tonight, we’ll see what we can do about a Snitch when we leave. Or maybe a Quaffle. How does that sound?” 

 

Teddy’s face beamed, and his hair turned bright pink. “Okay!” 

 

“But only if you promise to take good care of it and not let it fly around the house, okay?” 

 

“I promise!” 

 

“And here’s our spot,” said Harry, pointing to the archway that led between two rows of stands. “We’re going to have to do some climbing.” 

 

“Oh, bloody… nosebleed seats?” Dudley groaned as they entered the seating area. 

 

“When you’re talking Quidditch," Harry said with a smirk, "nosebleeds are the best seats in the house.” 

 

“Wow,” Teddy Lupin breathed as he got his first view of the Quidditch pitch. From his other side, Harry could hear both Dudley and Susan gasp. Harry knew that this was Teddy and Dudley’s first game, so he could understand their shock at seeing it for the first time. But Harry himself, who had been to plenty of matches, both as a participant at Hogwarts and as an audience member for more than a few Holyhead Harpies games, couldn’t help but be impressed at what he was seeing. 

 

"How many people do you think there are?" Susan asked. 

  

"No idea," Harry said, occasionally glancing back toward the pitch as they began to climb the stairs.  In the two seasons that Ginny Potter had been a member of the Holyhead Harpies, the largest turnout for a game had been a couple hundred people.  But this, while not quite to the level of the World Cup...  "Five thousand?  six?" 

  

 "Decent turnout," said Dudley.  "Not exactly Man U numbers, but still..." 

  

"This is a fantastic turnout," said Harry.  "You have to remember, wizards have a fraction of the numbers that Muggles have.  There are only a couple thousand wizards and witches in the UK.  Getting five thousand fans into one match is an incredible accomplishment." 

  

 "A lot of wizards coming in from out of town," Susan said, and Harry nodded, noticing more than a few sweaters, scarves, and pins for teams from different leagues around Europe, as well as a surprisingly large number that he didn't recognize, speaking in languages and accents that sounded like they were from completely different continents. 

  

"Suze!" said a voice from their right side.  Harry turned to see an attractive young man standing at the end of a row waving to them. He was wearing a gray and white striped sweater, and wore a pin on his chest shaped like a bird’s head. 

 

“Justin!” Susan squealed, running over and embracing him. Harry glanced over at Dudley, who was warily taking in the scene, before walking over to the two. 

 

“How are you?” Susan asked after pulling away. 

 

“Not bad, not bad,” Justin Finch-Fletchley replied, extending his hand to Harry. “How’s it going, Potter?” 

 

“Can’t complain,” said Harry, shaking his hand and studying the pin. “Falcon backer, eh?” 

 

“I moved to Falmouth after Hogwarts,” Justin explained. “I didn’t have a team coming in, so I decided I might as well go local.” 

 

“Good choice,” Harry said appreciatively. “They’re looking strong going into next season.” 

 

“Luck of the draw, really,” Justin replied. “I honestly didn’t even know Falmouth had a team until I arrived. And I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” he added, noticing Dudley. 

 

“Oh, sorry,” said Susan, grabbing Dudley’s arm. “This is my boyfriend, Dudley Dursley. Dudley, this is Justin Finch-Fletchley. We were in Hufflepuff together.” 

 

“Dursley,” Justin said slowly, extending his hand. “Sounds familiar. Were you in Slytherin?” 

 

“I didn’t go to Hogwarts,” Dudley drawled, hesitantly taking Justin’s offered one. 

 

“He’s a Muggle,” Susan explained. “Harry’s cousin.” 

 

Justin’s eyes widened. “Oh, _that_ Dursley!” he said. “Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve heard your name.” 

 

“Didn’t know I was famous,” Dudley replied, giving Harry a look. 

 

“You might have come up once or twice,” Harry shrugged. 

 

Justin looked down at Harry’s legs, and Harry felt a little pressure behind them. “And who’s this?” Justin asked. “Harry, I didn’t know you were a dad!” 

 

Harry glanced down to see Teddy hiding behind his legs; his once pink hair now turned mousy brown. “This is Teddy,” said Harry. “He’s my godson.”

 

“He’s Professor Lupin’s son,” Susan said quietly.

 

“Oh, wow,” Justin said. “Is he…?”

 

“Not a werewolf,” Harry assured him.

 

“Sorry,” said Justin. “I got a little ahead of myself.” He bent down to Teddy’s level. “Hello, Teddy.” 

 

“You can say 'hi,' Teddy,” said Harry. “He’s a friend.” 

 

“Hi,” Teddy whispered, raising his hand slowly and clenching it once or twice in a wave before hiding behind Harry again. 

 

“New people,” Harry said. “You know how it is.” 

 

“I have more than a few nephews and nieces myself,” said Justin. “I completely understand.” 

 

“Oi! Harry!” shouted a voice from above. Harry looked up to see Ron and Arthur Weasley waving to them from near the top row. To Ron’s left, he saw the bushy brown hair of Hermione Weasley, as well as the red curls of Molly on Arthur’s right. 

 

“We should probably get to our seats,” Harry said to Justin. 

 

“Good idea,” Justin said, “Player announcements are beginning in a few, and you probably don’t want to miss that.” 

 

“Never have yet,” said Harry. “Good seeing you again.” 

 

“You, too,” Justin replied, once again shaking Harry’s hand. “Keep in touch, okay? You, too, Suze.” 

 

“Owl me,” said Susan, still smiling. 

 

“Dudley, Teddy, nice to meet you both.” 

 

“Right,” Dudley said quietly, and Teddy stayed behind Harry’s legs until Harry turned around and picked him up, carrying him as the three continued to scale the steps. 

 

“You have a jealous face,” Susan said to Dudley. 

 

“Just not used to good-looking guys coming out of nowhere and hugging my girlfriend, is all.” 

 

“We didn’t date or anything,” said Susan. “So you don’t have any reason to be jealous.” 

 

“Yeah, I suppose,” said Dudley as they reached their row, sidling sideways past the standing audience to get to their seats. 

 

“It’s alright,” said Susan as her leg accidentally bumped against someone’s knee. “It’s kind of flattering, I’m not used to having people get jealous around me. Just don’t make a habit of it.” 

 

“I’ll try not to,” said Dudley as they reached their destination. 

 

“Teddy!” came a high voice from the far end of the row. 

 

“Caroline!” a man yelled. Harry chuckled as he saw the younger Granger climb over all four Weasleys to get to their side, and a balding portly man stood up, looking apologetically at the group of redheads. 

 

“Sorry about that,” said Daniel Granger as Hermione Caroline Granger reached Harry, who set down Teddy and let the two of them talk. “She’s been waiting for him since she found out about the trip. Couldn’t get her to stop asking about him.” 

 

“Hello, Harry,” Molly Weasley said, giving him a motherly hug. 

 

“Hello, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry. “Mr. Granger, I didn’t know you were going to be here.” 

 

“Bill and Fleur had to back out,” Hermione explained. “Victoire came down with something, so they’re still at Shell Cottage. I figured Mum and Dad might want to use the spare tickets, he’s asking Ron about it whenever we visit.” 

 

“Charlotte’s not a sports type,” Daniel shrugged. “But, again, Caroline couldn’t wait to come after she found out Teddy was going to be here.” 

 

“Hi, Unca Harry,” Caroline said, as if noticing the other three for the first time. 

 

“Hello, Caroline,” Harry said as she ran forward, allowing herself to be scooped up in a hug. “You’re getting bigger every time I see you.” Caroline giggled as if she didn’t hear it every time Harry saw her. 

 

“Teddy,” Harry asked after putting Caroline down. “Do you want to sit with me, Dudley, and Susan? Or do you want to sit on the other side?” 

 

“Is Herminny sitting with Aunt Jean?” Teddy asked. 

 

“I think so,” Harry said, looking over at Hermione, who nodded. _Just when I thought things had gotten straightened out,_ Harry thought to himself. 

 

For the past few years, everyone had started calling the younger Hermione by her middle name, _Caroline_ , while still referring to the elder by her first name. Things were going smoothly until Teddy had found out about Caroline’s real name. Now he insisted on calling her _Hermione_ and, after finding out the elder’s middle name, started referring to her as _Aunt Jean_. 

 

_I need a bloody graph sometimes,_ Harry thought, shaking his head. “Yes, Teddy, Hermione’s sitting with Aunt Jean and Uncle Danny.” 

 

“I wanna sit with Herminny.” 

 

“Go on, then,” said Harry, ruffling his hair, which had once again become bright pink. Teddy grinned a big toothy grin and ran back to the other side. 

 

“Ron, switch with me!” said Molly loudly. “I’ll let the Quidditch experts sit together. I want to sit with the children.” 

 

“Of course you do,” Ron said, rolling his eyes but gratefully accepting. 

 

“Oh, good, I get stuck with the men,” Susan said dryly as Ron sat down between Harry and Arthur, with Dudley on Harry’s other side. 

 

“You could probably swap with Dan,” Ron said. “I’m not sure how much he’s going to pick up from the game, Hermione and Molly aren’t exactly experts.” 

 

“No, I think I’m good here,” Susan grinned, patting Dudley on the leg. “Unless I’m intruding on Man Time.” 

 

“Man Time’s a myth,” said Ron. “Hey, Harry, Dursley.” 

 

“Got your Omnioculars?” Harry asked, lifting his own from around his neck. 

 

“Nah, I forgot them at home,” Ron replied. 

 

“How’s the felevision working, Dudley?” Arthur asked, leaning across Harry and Ron. 

 

“The… oh, right,” Dudley said quickly, probably wondering where Arthur had developed the strange lisp. “Yeah, it’s working alright.” 

 

“And the FedEx?” 

 

“XBox?” 

 

“Right!” 

 

“Working well,” said Dudley. “No problems.” 

 

“Excellent,” said Arthur. “I was afraid some of the components might turn into gerbils after prolonged use. Glad to hear that that isn’t the case.” 

 

Dudley leaned into Harry. “Was that a joke?” 

 

“I have no idea,” Harry said, chuckling. 

 

“Who was that you all were talking to?” Ron asked, pointing his thumb down the stairs. 

 

“Justin Finch-Fletchley,” said Susan. “Dudley’s jealous.” 

 

“I am not…” 

 

“He was a little bit,” Harry prodded. 

 

“I’m not jealous!” 

 

“There’s no reason to be jealous, Dudley,” said Hermione from Arthur’s other side (Molly seemed to have asked Hermione to switch again, putting Molly even closer to the five-year-olds). “Justin just went to the Yule Ball with Susan fourth-year. Nothing else happened.” 

 

Dudley’s head spun toward Susan. “You _dated_ him?” 

 

“Just for the one night,” said Susan. “We didn’t even make it till the end of the ball, actually. He ran off with someone else.” 

 

“So that was it?” asked Dudley. “Nothing else?” 

 

“Considering he ran off with Marcus Belby, I think you’re safe.” 

 

Ron started coughing loudly, nearly doubling over. Harry patted him on the back hard. 

 

“You alright, mate?” 

 

“Sorry,” Ron rasped. “Went down the wrong pipe.” 

 

“But you’re not drinking anything.” 

 

“Inhaled my spit,” Ron said, wiping his eyes. “Justin’s gay?” 

 

“You didn’t know?” asked Susan. “It was all the news in the Hufflepuff common room after it happened. Um, much to my detriment,” she added, blushing slightly. “I kind of gained a reputation for turning boys after that.” 

 

“Unfairly,” Hermione added. “He was your only date at Hogwarts, wasn’t he?” 

 

“Thanks for reminding me,” Susan said, blushing harder. 

 

“Guess we were too busy helping Harry with his tasks,” said Ron. “I wasn’t paying much attention to the social news.” 

 

“You never paid attention to the social news,” Harry corrected. 

 

“But Belby wasn’t a part of the DA, was he?” Ron continued. “Justin didn’t drag him along like Ginny dragged Michael?” 

 

“They had already broken up by then,” said Hermione. “Justin was dating a fifth year Hufflepuff when we left for the Horcruxes, I don’t know what happened after that.” 

 

“Justin and I are friends,” Susan said to Dudley. “Nothing past that. You’re my boyfriend, alright?” 

 

Dudley shrugged. “Not used to the whole dating thing,” he admitted. “You know you’re still my first.” 

 

“And you’re pretty much mine,” Susan replied. “We’re both still learning.” 

 

“Cute, aren’t they?” Ron said to Harry, his nose wrinkled in mock disgust. 

 

“Adorable,” Harry snorted, and Dudley jabbed him hard in the ribs just as the stadium resonated with the sound of a throat clearing. 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” a _Sonorus_ ed voice announced. “Welcome to the second annual Quaffle for a Cause between the Holyhead Harpies and the Vratsa Vultures!” 

 

“Little corny, isn’t it?” Ron said to Harry as the audience roared. “The name, I mean.” 

 

“Well, it’s the one that Gwenog and Viktor came up with after the reception,” said Harry. “They’re not exactly marketing experts.” 

 

“They’re expert enough,” Arthur said, looking around the packed stadium. “Besides, it might not be going by that name too much longer.” 

 

“Why do you say that?” Harry asked. 

 

“Well, look around,” Arthur said. “You don’t see these kinds of crowds outside of a European Cup match. And this isn’t even for points. The fact that this many people would turn out simply to help a good cause hasn’t gone unnoticed.” 

 

“What good cause is this for again?” Dudley asked. 

 

“St. Mungo’s Hospital,” said Ron. “And whatever the one in Bulgaria’s called.” 

 

“And now, the Vratsa Vultures!” the announcer boomed. The roars grew even louder, and Harry noticed that they were considerably more vocal on the opposite side of the stadium, where the Vratsa supporters were seated, along with an equally large number of Caerphilly Catapults fans. Caerphilly was Holyhead’s main rival in the League, so Harry wasn’t surprised to see them siding with the opponents. 

 

“Burgos Clinic,” said Arthur. “There’s talk on Level Seven about sitting down with Gwen and Viktor after this match is over. Talk about expansion.” 

 

“Expansion?” Harry asked. 

 

“The League’s taken an interest,” Arthur explained. “So has the Eastern European League, obviously. We’ve also gotten word from the Scandinavians, the Mediterraneans, and even the North Africans about participating.” 

 

“In what?” 

 

“A tournament,” said Arthur. “Maybe eight teams, maybe sixteen. European Cup is only every three years, and the World Cup’s every four, so something annual might keep the fans interested.” 

 

“Invitational, though?” 

 

“Well, it would depend on how many leagues are involved. Plus there would be a bit of an uproar if Holyhead and Vratsa weren’t given lifetime involvement.” 

 

"The Beaters," the announcer continued over their conversation, "Assen Volkov and Emil Vulchanov!" 

  

The two Beaters for the Vratsa Vultures, who Harry recognized from the Bulgarian team they had seen at the World Cup back in '94, flew through the ground level archway, dressed in matching robes of black, with a light gray collar and yellow trim.  They took a lap around the pitch to the cheers of Vratsa and Caerphilly fans, and then joined their Chasers at the far end of the field.  They were joined soon by their Keeper, Violeta Dimova, who was dressed in opposing colors, a gray robe with a black collar. 

  

"I've heard a lot of good about her," Ron admitted as she swept past their row.  "She's the new phenom in the Eastern European League. I guess she's only eighteen.  We have our work cut out for us." 

  

 "And the Seeker and Captain for the Vratsa Vultures," said the announcer.  "Viktor Krum!" 

  

The words were nearly drowned out in a chorus of cheers and boo as Tri-Wizard Champion Viktor Krum launched onto the pitch.  He past a giant board perched over the announcer's table, translating the words into Bulgarian as well as various other languages that Harry didn't recognize. 

  

"And now, the Holyhead Harpies!" the announcer boomed.  Harry's eardrums flinched as the crowd around him roared.  "The Chasers…Katie Bell, Ginny Potter, and Mali Pritchard!" 

  

 Pritchard, the veteran of the trio, flew through the entrance first, followed closely behind by Katie Bell, Harry's former teammate for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.  Harry and the others stood to cheer when they flew overhead. 

  

"There she is!" Dudley and Susan both yelled at the same time as Ginny followed her teammates onto the pitch, red hair put back in a ponytail against her green and gold robes.  As the announcers shouted the names of the Holyhead Beaters, Tabitha Connolly and Phoebe Craig, Ginny flew over the opposing stands and pulled a triple barrel roll before joining her teammates.  Almost all of the fans of both Holyhead and the Bacau Barbarians, Vratsa's black and blue rivals, cheered this move. 

  

"She's going to kill herself," Harry heard Molly gasp from the far end, but the wide grins on the faces of Arthur, Ron, and Hermione proved that she was the only Weasley in disapproval.  Even Teddy and Caroline cheered when they saw her spin, and Daniel Granger's face was one of complete and total awe. 

  

 "This is fantastic!" Daniel yelled giddily. 

  

"The game hasn't even started yet, Dad," Hermione said as the Keeper was announced. 

  

 "I know, I know," he replied.  "But, look!  Brooms!" 

  

"First time seeing a flying broomstick, eh?" Harry asked Ron and Arthur, who both turned to look at Daniel, smiling patronizingly.  Harry laughed and as he looked to his other side, he saw the same expression on Dudley's face.

 

“And the Captain and Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies, Gwenog Jones!”

  

"This is fucking awesome," Dudley said, wearing an almost child-like grin that Harry hadn't seen him wear since...  well, ever. 

  

 "Wait'll they let the balls loose," said Harry as the black and white striped referee flew out of the archway and hovered between the two teams. Gwenog and Viktor flew toward each other and shook hands.  Below, a witch and a wizard walked onto the pitch, carrying a jittering chest that Harry would always recognize from his years at Hogwarts.  They set it down in the chalked circle and flipped it open.  Harry could see the two Bludgers struggling against their reins, as the Quaffle sat idly between them. The small door in the lid opened, and the ball that would become the Golden Snitch was revealed.  The two officials stepped away and pulled their wands from their robes. 

  

“Players ready?” the referee yelled, and Harry he didn’t even need a Sonorous charm to hear him, as the crowd had grown silent in anticipation. Both Gwenog and Viktor nodded and faded back to their teams. “Chest ready?” The officials responded by raising their wands and pointing them at the Quidditch chest.

 

The whistle blew. Two beams of energy shot from the tips of the officials’ wands, and the four balls blasted into the air.

 

\---------

 

“Hristo Rangelov of Vratsa has the Quaffle,” said the play-by-play announcer, “And the match is underway!”

 

“Formation Twenty-Three!” Gwenog Jones yelled to the Holyhead Chasers. Ginny, Katie, and Mali faded back into a defensive formation around the goal hoops as Craig and Connolly split off to get their bats on the Bludgers.

 

“And it’s Rangelov with the Quaffle,” the announcer continued, “Rangelov to Petrov, Petrov to Rangelov, Rangelov to Gatchev… oh, almost stolen by Bell, and the Quaffle is knocked loose, but picked up by Petrov.”

 

”Nice attempt by Katie Bell,” said the color analyst as Katie spun around and followed Todor Petrov toward his goal, “Potter faked a steal on Gatchevski, and Bell came up from behind and punched the Quaffle right out of his arm.”

 

“And here’s Petrov to Gatchevski, and Bell’s right on him. She slides in… Oh! Barely missed a Bludger from Volkov. Gatchevski takes a shot at the goal and scores!”

 

“That was all Volkov, Bob,” the color man said as Atanas Gatchevski took a lap around the pitch to the cheers of the Vulture and Catapult supporters. “He recognized that the Harpies were playing one-on-one coverage, so he took a shot at Bell in order to clear Gatchevski for the goal, knowing that Potter or Pritchard wouldn’t be able to get to him in time. Really keen eye.”

 

“As the players get back into their positions for the next set,” said Bob, “we’d like to take this moment to welcome our audience on BBC Wiz, as well as our troops across the globe listening in on the Auror Forces Network. You’re listening to the DMGS broadcast of Quaffle for a Cause, between the Holyhead Harpies of the English and Irish Quidditch League and the Eastern European Quidditch League’s Vratsa Vultures.”

 

“And what a great cause it is, Bob,” the color man replied as the Quaffle flew back to the referee. “All proceeds from ticket and souvenir sales, which I might add are available by owl post through the Department of Magical Games and Sports, are going to fund research at St. Mungo’s Hospital in London, as well as the Burgos Clinic in Sofia.”

 

“You’re absolutely correct, Nick,” Bob said. “In addition, both the Harpies and the Vultures have donated two thousand Galleons to their respective hospitals. Just a fantastic idea that was a long time overdue. And the referee tosses the Quaffle, taken by Pritchard, and we’re back on!”

 

“Thirteen!” Gwenog yelled from above, keeping her eyes on the game while also surveying the darkening skies for the Golden Snitch. The Holyhead Chasers formed a triangle, with Mali in front, Katie and Ginny flanking her from behind and launched toward the goal.

 

“Pritchard back to Potter, Potter to Pritchard, Pritchard to Bell to Potter,” Bob yelled, “flying around in a tight formation, passing the ball back and forth as quick as they can to keep the Vratsa Beaters from zoning in on… and a _brutal_ shot to the back of Bell by Volkov…”

 

“He really has her number tonight, Bob.”

 

“That he does,” Bob replied. “The Quaffle comes loose and is picked up by Rangelov. Pritchard and Potter in pursuit, Bell getting her breath back by the Vratsa posts. So it’s three on two, no, wait, it’s three on three, Jones has joined in, trying to block the Beaters from taking a shot at her two remaining Chasers. Rangelov to Gatchevski, Gatchevski to Petrov, who’s in the Holyhead scoring area, Llewelyn readies herself, and a _great save_ by Anwyn Llewelyn!”

 

The green and gold of the Holyhead Harpies section erupted into screams of joy as Llewelyn threw herself to her left side, grabbing the Quaffle by the tips of her fingers and pulling it in. The Vratsa Chasers pulled back, setting themselves into defense as the Holyhead Chasers formed a semi-circle around their Keeper.

 

“Llewelyn lobs the Quaffle to Ginny Potter, who takes it up the pitch. Potter, as we all know, is the wife of Harry Potter, who, before saving the world, was an above-average Seeker in his days at Hogwarts. Gryffindor House won the school’s Quidditch Cup in four of the six years that he was on the team. Following his time at school, Potter had been courted by many teams in the League before deciding to take on a less demanding life.”

 

“Detractors will say that he was only directly involved in two of those wins,” said Nick. “As he had been pulled from the championship the other two years. But no one can deny that he played a key role up to that point. Either way, he certainly deserves the rest. And whatever children come out of this marriage are going to be signed to a contract before they can walk. Weasel finished second in the league in scoring last season, behind only Kyle Mullet of Kenmare.”

 

“She passes it off to Pritchard,” Bob continued, “who passes it to Bell, Bell back to Potter, who one-times it and scores!”

 

\---------

 

Ginny’s row exploded as the Quaffle flew past Violeta Dimova’s outstretched hand and through the hoop. Harry screamed as Ginny circled around the pitch to a roar of applause, and as she passed them, he flinched as both Ron and Dudley released ear-piercing whistles.

 

“Ron, Harry, look!” Hermione, who had switched seats with Arthur, yelled, pointing toward the board. The score and translation had disappeared briefly, and was replaced by a picture of three girls, no older than ten, Harry guessed, as school was still in session for anyone over eleven. Two of them were wearing Holyhead green and gold, while the third was dressed in a red and blue that Harry recognized as the kit of the Fitchburg Finches out of the US. They held a sign aloft that read _Ginny Potter Fan Club._ He heard Caroline and Teddy cry out in delight as a brown weasel, drawn in crayon, scurried around the letters.

 

Ron roared in laughter. “Okay, now _that’s_ cool!” he said.

 

“Definitely better than _Weasley Is Our Queen_ ,” Harry replied.

 

“See, those lyrics only work for Keepers, anyway,” said Ron as the teams approached the middle. “I’m not poetic enough to rewrite them.”

 

_“Weasel’s so good it’s a sin,”_ Hermione sang, more than a little off-key, _“She always gets the Quaffle in, Weasel will make sure we win, Weasel is our Queen!_ ”

 

“Did you just make that up?” Ron asked.

 

“Of course!” said Hermione, and then admitted. “Okay, I may have written _some_ of it in advance.”

 

“I’m sure she appreciates your talents,” Ron replied, bending down to kiss her.

 

Hermione smiled wickedly as he pulled away. “With appreciation like that,” she said, “I might have to come up with a dance to go with it.”

 

“Okay,” Dudley said to Harry as play resumed, “Let me get this straight. Each goal is worth ten points, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“But if you catch the Snitch it’s worth one hundred and fifty.”

 

“Right again.”

 

“Well, that’s kind of stupid, isn’t it?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, it defeats the purpose of the Chaser,” Daniel Granger leaned across the row to enter the conversation. “The only reason the Chasers even play a role in the match is if they’re absolutely murdering the other club.”

 

“Your Chasers have to score fifteen more goals than the others before they even play a factor in the final outcome,” Dudley agreed. “Why are they even there if the Seeker’s the only player that matters?”

 

“Because the wins and losses don’t matter,” Arthur explained. “League standings are based on total points, not wins and losses. So a team that loses a lot of matches, but still has a great core of Chasers, can stay closer to the top of the rankings if they’re putting in a lot of goals.”

 

“So how do tournaments work?” asked Daniel. “Or exhibition games like this one?”

 

“The European and World Cups are round robin,” said Ron. “Two teams with the highest total points advance to the finals. By then, their points are usually close enough where the final match will decide the champion.”

 

“When we took Harry and Hermione to the Cup in ’94, Ireland and Bulgaria were tied coming into the final,” Arthur continued. “So it was like a different game. But you’ll often see two teams in a final round starting with some sort of advantage before they even release the balls, because one team had X number of points more than the other coming in.”

 

“They change the rules for single-elimination tournaments and for exhibition,” said Ron. “The Snitch is only worth fifty points tonight, and is worth fifty points in the bracket-based tournaments, too.”

 

“There are lots of different rules depending on how you’re playing the game,” Harry said to Dudley.  “Not everyone has access to a Snitch or Bludgers, so most pickup games are played with just a broom, a Quaffle, and a set time period, like football or basketball.”

 

Dudley just responded with a blank stare.

 

“It’s alright,” said Harry. “You’re still new to the sport. Doesn’t matter how much you’re told about it, you just need some in-person experience before it starts to sink in. You’ll get it.” He turned back to the game, where Holyhead was once again in possession of the Quaffle. “ _Come on, Ginny!_ ”

 

“And it’s Potter to Pritchard,” Bob the play-by-play announcer continued. “Pritchard with a backwards toss to Bell. Bell almost gets _another_ Bludger by Volkov, but it’s knocked away by Connolly. Bell to Pritchard, Pritchard to Potter who _scores_!”

 

“Yeah!” Harry yelled, jumping in the air as Ginny backflipped her broom and pumped her fist to the audience.

 

“Now, I tell you what, Nick,” said Bob. “Potter’s having one heck of a match tonight.”

 

“Two goals in two tries for Potter,” Nick replied. “Which could be added to the five goals she scored in the first annual Quaffle for a Cause, which the Vultures won one hundred ninety to one hundred twenty. The Holyhead Harpies announced right before the match that this will be Ginny Potter’s last game with the club. The press release did not go into details, but there is a news conference expected for tomorrow that should hopefully clear up the situation. If it’s true, though, she’s certainly going out on top.”

 

“Wait, what?” Ron said, turning to Harry. “What are they talking about?”

 

Harry felt all of the eyes of his friends and family on him, but he wasn’t even looking at them.

 

“It’s news to me,” he said quietly, staring down at the pitch. “She didn’t tell me anything…”

 

This was apparently the first time most of the audience had heard the news, too. The roar had dulled considerably, and Harry could hear speculating fans around him.

 

“Is her contract up?” a wizard asked a few rows behind him.

 

“Maybe she’s looking to sign with Tutshill,” a witch said in response. “She lived there for a year before she got married. Maybe she’s a closet Tornadoes fan.”

 

“No way, she’d sign with Chudley,” the wizard responded. “She grew up in Devon, that’s the closest club.”

 

“I thought she still had a year left on her contract,” a second wizard said. “I couldn’t see them buying her out.”

 

“A trade, maybe?”

 

“Kenmare’s losing Leary at the end of the season. They’ll need a new Chaser, and they have some decent witch prospects on their reserve team. I could see Holyhead sending her there.”

 

“Mullet and Potter on the same line? Bloody hell, they’ll have the League in their grip until Kyle retires.”

 

“And you didn’t hear anything about this?” Arthur asked Harry.

 

“Not a thing,” Harry repeated. “Something must have happened before the match.”

 

Harry was lost in his thoughts. Why hadn’t Ginny said anything to him? Was she just learning about this, too? If so, why wasn’t she acting like anything was wrong? Was there anything wrong? Holyhead was her club, always had been. If she was being traded, or being let go, why would she be playing so well, with so much abandon? Why was she looking like she was having the time of her life if her team was stabbing her in the back?

 

Harry felt a poke at his shoulder. He looked over to see Dudley staring at him.

 

“You alright?” Dudley asked. “Ginny just scored two more times, you didn’t even say anything.”

 

Harry looked up at the scoreboard. Vratsa was up sixty points to fifty.

 

“Sorry,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I must have been zoning.”

 

“You’re wife’s mopping the floor with them,” said Dudley. “Just too bad our Beaters aren’t doing anything worth crap.”

 

Dudley was right. Connolly and Craig were both swinging the bats fine, but the Vultures’ Chasers were just too swift, easily avoiding the Bludgers that were hit toward them. Meanwhile, Volkov and Vulchanov were a well-oiled machine, sweeping both Bell and Pritchard off Rangelov as he tossed the Quaffle past Llewelyn for his third goal of the night.

 

“Oh, bloody hell!” Ron yelled in frustration as Pritchard and Petrov tied up in the middle of the pitch, each bouncing against the other for possession of the Quaffle after it reached neutral position. “Come on, ref! That’s Cobbing! Foul!  _Foul_!”

 

“His elbows are fine, Ron,” said Arthur. Mali pulled the Quaffle from Todor’s grip, and took one extra swing for good measure. “That, on the other hand…”

 

“No foul, no foul!” Ron screamed as Pritchard zoomed down the pitch, leaving Todor with a bleeding lip. “Good job, ref!”

 

“Quite a double standard, Ron,” Hermione said with some amusement.

 

“I’m a supporter,” said Ron. “It’s my God-given right to be biased. Come on, Katie!”

 

Katie Bell caught the pass from Pritchard and zoomed past Rangelov, spinning to avoid a Bludger from her favorite Beater, Assen Volkov. She had a clear shot for the goal, until she had to pull up from a Bludger from Tabitha Connolly flew past her, connecting with Volkov, but also allowing Gatchevski enough time to get in front of her. In frustration, she lobbed a quick pass to Ginny.

 

It happened quickly. So quickly, in fact, that Ginny barely had time to react, let alone dodge. Volkov connected directly with a Bludger, sending it directly at her at top speed. Knowing that it was going to hit her no matter what, Ginny twisted her body, putting the arm that was cradling the Quaffle directly into the line of fire.

 

The crack was heard throughout the stadium. Five thousand Quidditch fans gasped in unison.

 

Ginny Potter slipped from her broomstick and tumbled toward the ground.

 

“Ginny!” Harry yelled, barely hearing Ron and Molly yelling the same thing. As he pulled his wand from his back pocket and pointed it toward the pitch, Arthur and Hermione’s word of warning barely touched him.

 

All he knew was that Ginny was falling, lifeless, from sixty feet up.

 

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_!” he yelled in unison with Ron. Molly cast a _Levicorpus_ to go along with them.

 

Harry felt himself fly backwards, his world was bright white, his glasses flying off his face as he slammed into his chair.  To his left, Ron did the same, and from farther down he heard a higher groan as Molly Weasley was also repulsed. 

 

"Harry!" Dudley and Susan yelled at the same time.  Dudley grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him up, and Hermione did the same for Ron.  Susan picked up Harry's glasses from the ground and handed them to him after casting a _Reparo_ on a broken lens. 

 

"What was that?" Dudley asked Harry, who was shaking his head to clear the cobwebs.  "What did you do?" 

 

 "Anti-spell barriers," Arthur explained as he and Daniel both helped Molly to her feet.  "They put them around the pitch to make sure hooligan fans don't try to jinx the opponents." 

 

 "They used to set fire to the hoops," Hermione explained.  "It says so in _Quidditch Through_ \--" 

 

 "Ginny!" Harry yelled, remembering why he was knocked backward in the first place. 

 

"She's fine," said Arthur.  "Gwen and the others threw _Wingardiums_ at her at the same time that you three tried." 

 

_Fine's a relative term_ , Harry thought as he sat up to see his wife floating in mid-air, apparently unconscious as she was lowered to the grass below.  Gwenog Jones had her wand out and pointed at her, and Harry could see that every other member of the Holyhead Harpies had done the same.  Of the Vratsa Vultures, Vulchanov, Krum, and Dimova also had their wands out, but it appeared that Rangelov and Petrov were unaware of the proceedings, as Rangelov tossed the dropped Quaffle past a distracted Llewelyn and through the hoop. 

 

"Time out!" Harry heard Jones shout through the stunned murmurs of the crowd.  "Ref, time out!" 

 

 The referee's whistle blew at the same time that Ginny touched down on the ground.  She sat up, much to Harry's relief, but he could see that she was clutching her arm to her chest. 

 

"Why did she do that?" Ron asked desperately as the other Harpies landed around her and the team Healer rushed out onto the field.  "What the hell was she thinking?" 

 

"Arthur, give me your glasses," Molly said, reaching her hand out.  Arthur had his Omnioculars to his eyes, and was twisting the dials to get a better view, but didn't seem to hear her. 

 

 "That shot would have knocked the wind out of her," said Ron to Harry and Hermione, "cracked a rib at most.  She could play with that.  Why did she put her arm in the way?  There's no way that it didn't break, you heard it." 

 

"Arthur, the glasses!" Molly repeated, more firmly this time. 

 

"In a moment, Molly..." 

 

"If the Bludger made contact with the ribs or the stomach it would have distributed the impact," Hermione agreed with Ron.  "Putting the arm there, with the Quaffle..." 

 

 "Arthur, my little girl is down there with her arm broken, so give me the _bloody glasses_!" 

 

 Harry could more than empathize with Molly.  He was doing everything in his power not to rush out to the aisle and down to the field himself.  He watched Gwen and the Healer silently confer with Ginny, watched Ginny flinch as the Healer gently touched the injured arm. 

 

“What happened to Aunt Ginny?” Caroline asked Daniel.

 

“She hurt her arm, love,” said Daniel. “But she’ll be fine.”

 

"I wish I could hear what they were saying," Harry muttered to whoever was listening. 

 

"Use the subtitles," said Ron. 

 

"What?" 

 

"The subtitles," Ron repeated.  "On your Omnioculars."  He lifted the glasses from Harry's chest, pressed a button on its side, and handed it to Harry, who put it to his eyes. 

 

 He adjusted the focus and distance on his vision until he saw Ginny, Gwenog, and the Healer in the gap between Katie and Anwyn. 

 

_I can keep playing,_ words scribbled at the bottom of his view as Ginny's lips moved. 

 

_Potter, this is a bad break,_ the Healer replied.  _I can't just cast a spell and heal this._

 

_I've been through worse._

 

  _Ginny, this is compound fracture.  It needs to be set, and we might even need to get you some Skele-Gro before it can be put back to normal._

 

_Fantastic,_ Ginny said.  _When the match is over we can get to it. Right now, bring me my broom._

 

_Ginny, I can’t let you do that…_

 

_I’m conscious, Gwen,_ Ginny snapped.  _If I don’t fly, we have two Chasers._

 

_We’ll have two Chasers even if you do fly. Ginny, how are you going to be able to balance on your broom?_

 

_I still have one good arm._

 

_As soon as you throw the Quaffle you’ll fall off._

 

_I have strong legs, ask Harry._

 

Harry saw Katie put her hand to her mouth in a chuckle, and blushed slightly as he heard laughter from others in the audience reading the same subtitles he was.

 

_Ginny…_

 

_Gwen, if you don’t trust me with the Quaffle, fine. I can be a third Beater, just let me fly around and slam into people._ Ginny pulled herself to her feet, swaying on her feet. Connolly and Pritchard reached out to steady her as she clutched her arm. Ginny’s freckles stuck out even more as her face paled.

 

_You have to let me do this, Jones. I can’t go out this way._

 

Harry could see the look of conflict on Gwenog’s face. She turned around to the referee. “Harrison!” he heard her yell, and the black and white striped wizard floated down to the squad.

 

_Two minutes, Holyhead,_ Harrison warned.

 

_Can she play with a splint?_

 

_Any extra equipment is forbidden without the consent of the opposing Captain._

 

“Krum!” Gwenog called, and Viktor Krum flew down beside the referee.

 

_How are you, Ginny?_ Viktor’s subtitles asked in unaccented English.

 

_Sunshine and lollipops, Krum. You?_

 

_She broke her arm,_ Jones explained quickly, realizing that the referee was studying his pocket watch.  _Will you give consent to let her wear a splint?_

 

_Of course,_ said Viktor.  _If you feel that she can continue…_

 

_One minute,_ the ref said. Gwen looked anxiously around the circle, before settling on the team Healer.

 

_Do it,_ she said before turning back to Viktor.  _This is an exhibition, Krum. Go easy on her, there’s no reason for us to have to go all out._

 

_I agree,_ said Krum, who flew back into the air to consult his team.

 

_I don’t need to be fucking mollycoddled, Jones,_ Ginny growled as the Healer cast _Ferula_ on Ginny’s broken arm.

 

_You’ll appreciate it later,_ Gwenog snapped.  _This is going to hurt like a_ drewgi siffilitig.  _You know that, don’t you?_

 

_It already hurts like a droogy sfillig,_ Ginny said as Craig brought her broom. As she mounted it, she turned to Katie.  _Use my hairband to tie my hand down, Katie._

 

_Ginny?_ Katie said uncertainly.

  
_Tie my hand to the broom,_ Ginny explained.  _I don’t have any grip, but I’ll need my balance._

 

_Keep your weight off it or it’ll hurt worse than before,_ the Healer said tersely as Katie Bell undid the ribbon around Ginny’s hair and wrapped it around the broomstick and Ginny’s wrist.  _I don’t want you whiting out again, especially with the broomstick attached this time._

 

_I’ll be fine,_ said Ginny.

 

_I’m washing my hands of this,_ the Healer said.  _If anything happens to you, just know that…_

 

_I’ll be fine,_ Ginny repeated, and launched into the air.

 

“And it appears that Ginny Potter is staying in the game!” Bob the play-by-play announcer yelled as fans on both sides of the pitch applauded. Harry turned his gaze away long enough to see that the rest of the Harpies were still on the grass. Gwenog circled them up, and Harry read her words subtitled.

 

_Pritchard, Bell, I don’t want you tossing to her unless it’s an absolute necessity. One false move and she’s going to be in a world of hurt. If she wants to be a Beater, let her be a Beater._

 

_Right,_ Pritchard responded, and Katie nodded her head. Gwenog turned to her Beaters.

 

_I don’t think I have to tell you to watch out for her, right?_

 

_The Vultures know to back off,_ Connolly said.  _But the Bludgers don’t. Of course we’ll watch her._

 

_Then that’s your job, Tab,_ Gwen said to Connolly.  _You keep the Bludgers off Weasel. Phoebe can handle Katie and Mali._

 

_Yes, ma’am._

 

_If anyone gets cute, make them regret it._

 

The Harpies nodded in agreement, re-mounted their broomsticks, and flew back into the air as the referee blew his whistle, resuming play.

 

“This is insane,” Molly said in a high voice. “What does she think she’s doing?”

 

“She’s as tough as they come,” said Harry. “If anyone can play through it, she can.” But despite his words, he still couldn’t hide the worry in his voice.

 

“Well, I guess that eliminates a trade,” said Dudley. “There’s no way they’d still be letting her back in, the other team would break it off knowing what’s happening to her.”

 

“Broken bones heal fast in the wizard world,” said Susan. “She’ll be fine in a few hours.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s the meantime that’s getting me nervous,” said Ron, who was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as the Quaffle was flown back and forth along the pitch.

 

“If anything, this would probably make the Harpies push for more players,” said Arthur. “Resilience in a Quidditch player is a vital quality, since there aren’t any substitutions allowed in a match. If whoever trades for her knows that she’ll play through a broken arm, it’ll only enhance her value.”

 

“Or get her a bigger contract if she’s going free agent,” said Ron, elbowing Harry in the ribs. “You Potters are getting richer by the minute, mate.”

 

Harry didn’t care about any big contracts. As he watched the Harpies take possession of the Quaffle and fly up the pitch, all he cared about was that Ginny seemed to be pushing herself every minute she was out there, and she was going through a lot of pain because of it. The Quaffle, despite Gwenog’s request, did reach her occasionally. When it did, she couldn’t sit up straight because of the arm tied to her broomstick. She tried it once or twice, but cried out and grimaced in pain each time. The first time, she bent herself down and lobbed a weak pass to Pritchard, who put it through the Vratsa hoops. The second time she sat up, she dropped the Quaffle completely. Petrov picked it up and threw it past Llewelyn for an easy goal.

 

Things started getting particularly ugly five minutes later. The Quaffle was thrown to Ginny. Tabitha Connolly, who had been hovering within five feet of Ginny since the match resumed, blasted a Bludger at Hristo Rangelov, who was approaching the pair to steal the Quaffle. He dodged the Bludger easily enough, but as soon as he made contact with Ginny, the whistle blew.

 

“Blatching!” Harrison yelled. “Blatching on Rangelov! Penalty for Holyhead!”

 

The Vultures supporters went ballistic. Their boos echoed through the stadium, and Harry could see a few of them tossing the wrappers from their pies onto the pitch.

 

“No way that was Blatching,” said Ron. “He barely touched her!”

 

“He’s giving her preferential treatment,” said Arthur. “Because of the injury. Vratsa’s not going to be too happy about that.”

 

The Vultures weren’t the only ones upset. Ginny flew over to the referee with a look that Harry recognized from when she was about five seconds away from blasting Ron in Peru.

 

“That was not Blatching, Harrison!” Harry could hear her yell.

 

“It was Blatching,” Harrison replied, handing her the Quaffle. “Your penalty, Chaser.”

 

Ginny glared at him before taking the Quaffle. “Call a fucking fair game, alright, ref?”

 

“And you’re getting a warning. Watch your tone, or you’re getting a technical. Your penalty, Chaser.”

 

Ginny half-heartedly set herself in front of the Vratsa goal, and weakly lobbed the Quaffle toward the hoops. Dimova lofted in front of it, catching it easily with both hands. Ginny turned around to glare at Harrison before resuming her position in the middle of the pitch.

 

This protest seemed to encourage the Vratsa supporters as well as the Holyheads. The Vultures, however, were still spurned by their missed opportunity. Within thirty seconds, the whistle blew again.

 

“Cobbing on Rangelov! Penalty for Holyhead!”

 

This time it was the Harpies fans that turned hostile.

 

“What’s Cobbing?” Daniel yelled through the surrounding jeers.

 

“Excessive use of elbows,” Hermione replied.

 

“And that’s different than Blatching?”

 

“Blatching’s flying with intent to collide.”

 

“What the hell, Hristo?” Gwenog yelled as Mali Pritchard, bleeding from a cut on her cheek, was handed the Quaffle for a penalty shot. “Ginny didn’t take her shot, everything’s even!”

 

“As long as Potter is in game, things vill not be even!” Rangelov replied.

 

Jones glanced over at Ginny. Harry could tell that part of her agreed with Rangelov, that Harrison was obviously giving her consideration for her injury.

 

“I’m not leaving the game, Gwen,” Ginny said. Her red hair, now untailed, hung limply around her face, which was looking even paler than when she was first injured.

 

“Dammit,” Jones growled, knowing that any decision she made would come out bad. “Krum, get your team under control. Harrison, call a square match or I’m protesting to the Ministry. Potter, stop talking back, or your time with this team’s going to be considerably shorter.”

 

Mali threw her penalty shot, which was stopped by Dimova. Two minutes later, the whistle blew again on Vratsa’s next possession as Phoebe Craig’s bat connected with Petrov’s broomstick, causing the Quaffle to come loose.

 

“Damn it!” Jones screamed. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“ _Now_ we’re even,” Phoebe yelled to Petrov as his penalty shot was batted away by Llewelyn.

 

“This needs to be over _now_ ,” Arthur muttered. “Everyone’s falling apart.”

 

“Has there been any sign of the Snitch?” Ron asked as play resumed. Petrov and Gatchevski swerved past Bell and Pritchard to score an easy goal, making the score Vratsa one hundred twenty, Holyhead ninety.

 

“I don’t think so,” said Hermione. “I’ve barely seen Viktor move since the game started, and Gwen’s only been noticeable when she’s calling plays or screaming at the referee.”

 

Harry remained silent. In fact, he barely heard this conversation at all. He and Molly both were completely focused on the redhead painfully dodging through the Bludgers and Chasers, trying her best to keep the opposing team off guard, while all the while putting who knows how much extra strain on her injured arm in the process.

 

Therefore, he barely even knew what was happening until the crowd hushed. He looked up to see both Gwenog and Viktor come to attention, staring off into the far left corner of the pitch. Both bent down in unison and launched toward the spot.

 

“The Snitch!” the play-by-play announcer screamed. “Jones and Krum have found the Snitch!”

 

“It becomes a horse race now, Bob,” Nick the color analyst said as Jones and Krum zoomed around the pitch, meeting up and bumping shoulders as they followed the path of the Golden Snitch. “Vratsa’s up by thirty points, they have to do everything in their power to get two more Quaffles past Anwyn Llewelyn.”

 

“Remember, fans, that a Snitch catch during exhibition play only results in fifty points. If Krum gets to the Snitch first, Vratsa wins, unless the Harpies mount a huge comeback in the next few minutes. But two more goals by Vratsa makes a catch by Jones a tie game. Three more and that would put them in a terrific position, since a catch by Jones at that point would still secure a victory for the Vultures.”

 

“Two more goals by Vratsa would force Jones into a purely defensive position, Bob, and would give Viktor Krum a huge advantage. Unless Holyhead wants to end in a tie or a loss, Jones could not catch the… and _Vratsa_ _scores!_ ”

 

“No!” Ron yelled as Rangelov threw a one-timer to Petrov, who did an open-handed volleyball serve past Llewelyn and into the left hoop.  _Vultures 130 Harpies 90_ , the board read.

 

“And the Vratsa supporters are practically beside themselves,” Nick said as the gray and yellow erupted on the other side of the pitch. “One more goal would put the Vultures fifty points up on the Harpies, who are, for all intents and purposes, playing one body short, with Ginny Potter barely able to stay on her broomstick.”

 

“Whoa! And I just lost my hat, Nick. Jones and Krum just flew past us here in the booth, and they are in hot pursuit of the Snitch.”

 

“They are both jockeying hard for position. Both are bullying the other, throwing elbows and knees and whatever, trying to gain an inch.”

 

“And Harrison, who was extremely whistle-happy just ten minutes ago, is not even paying them much mind.”

 

“Well, when you have two veterans like these, two strong, fair competitors, sometimes you just have to throw the rulebook away and let them do their work.”

 

“Here’s Harrison putting the Quaffle back into play. Gatchevski with the Quaffle; dodges past Bell. Spins to miss a bullet by Craig, passes it off to Rangelov. Rangelov back to Gatchevski, Gatchevski to Petrov, the pass nearly knocked away by Potter. Petrov to Gatchevski, Gatchevski in the scoring area, takes the shot, and a great save by Llewelyn!”

 

The Holyhead faithful were on their feet, and screamed louder as Anwyn knocked the Quaffle away.

 

“Come on, Gwen!” Hermione screamed. Daniel Granger was jumping up and down, with Teddy Lupin and Caroline Granger nothing more than a constant high-pitched squeal. Both Jones and Krum were flying one-handed; their others stretched constantly forward, the Snitch zooming along, no more than a foot from their fingertips. Neither was trying for the hard shot anymore; both were just constantly putting as much pressure on the other, trying to get the other to give just a little bit. Their outstretched hands slapped at each other as the Snitch grew ever closer.

 

“And the Quaffle goes to Pritchard. Pritchard takes it down the pitch, under constant pressure from the Vratsa Chasers. They’re not even giving her an inch to pass, let alone try to get it past Dimova.”

 

“Forty-three!” Mali Pritchard yelled, as Jones was too occupied with the Snitch to play Captain.

 

“Pritchard literally drops the Quaffle to Bell, who flies directly beneath her. Smart move by Pritchard, who couldn’t get it past any of her defenders. And it’s Bell with the Quaffle, who suddenly has a parade behind her, with Potter, Craig, Rangelov, the Snitch, Jones, and Krum, all almost on the same plane.”

 

“Twenty-six!” Pritchard yelled. Bell looked over to her and nodded.

 

“Bell flies above the others,” Bob yelled. “The Quaffle’s in both hands, she holds it up in the air, looks like she’s going to take a two-handed shot at the goal _and here’s_ _another Bludger by Volkov!_  The Quaffle’s loose, picked up by Rangelov, who _gets it stolen away by Potter!_ ”

 

“Call off twenty-six!” Gwenog screamed.

 

“Twenty-six!” Ginny yelled and lifted the Quaffle over her head as best as she could. She threw her arm toward the goal but at the last second threw her entire body forward, spinning herself and her broomstick into a forward somersault. At the bottom of the spin, she hung upside-down by only her interlocked knees and by the hair ribbon that was tying her broken arm to the broom.

 

Using her last ounce of strength along with the momentum from the spin, Ginny blasted the Quaffle away from the hoops and towards...

 

“And Ginny Potter just threw the Quaffle at Viktor Krum!” Bob screamed. “Krum’s broken off, and Gwenog Jones has the Snitch! Holyhead wins!”

 

The audience sat in stunned silence and then, as one, roared louder than they had at any time during the match. Gwenog Jones held the Snitch aloft, and the roar grew even louder.

 

“Potter just executed a perfect Schneeberg Spin,” Nick explained. “She made like she was going for the goal, and then did a one-eighty that Krum bit hook, line, and sinker. He took the Quaffle right in the face, and he is just floating there, absolutely stunned right now.”

 

“And Ginny Potter, who pulled off the remarkable play to give her team the victory, has touched down on the grass. The Healers for both teams are heading her way, and she looks to be in a lot of pain.”

 

“Oh, no,” Susan moaned through her hands, which were cupped to her face in shock. As soon as she landed, Ginny dropped to her knees. Her wrist was still tied to the broomstick, which was trapped beneath her, so she had to lean forward, her hair pooled on the grass, her nose pressed against the handle, to keep the fractured forearm from dangling free.

 

“Get out of my way,” Molly ordered, shoving her way past Arthur, Hermione, and Ron. She didn’t have to worry about Dudley or Susan, because they had already been pushed back by Harry, who was already working his way down through the celebrating crowd.

 

\---------

 

“Harry, Molly, calm down!” Arthur yelled to them. “She’s going to be fine.”

 

“I have to get to her,” said Molly, and the same words could be read on Harry’s face as the group walked through the echoing chamber below the stadium.

 

“The Healers are doing their work,” Arthur said to them. “Ginny’s not going to be any better or any worse if you’re there five minutes later. Honestly, you knocked over five people on your way down here.”

 

Harry led the way, with Molly no more than two steps behind him. Arthur was behind them, with Ron and Hermione walking side by side in his wake. They weren’t showing the obvious worry that both Ginny’s mother and husband were showing, but they still held each other’s hands in comfort. Daniel Granger, Dudley Dursley, and Susan Bones came up the rear, Daniel holding Caroline while Teddy was holding Susan’s hand.

 

“Can I still get a Smitch?” Teddy asked Susan.

 

“In a little bit, Teddy,” Susan replied. “We’re going to visit Ginny first.”

 

“Does she have an owwie?”

 

“She does, but she’ll be fine.”

 

“Use your wand,” said Teddy. “That’s what Gran does when I get an owwie.”

 

“I’m sure they’ll use a wand, Teddy,” said Dudley.

 

“Can I get a Snitch, too, Daddy?” asked Caroline.

 

“I don’t think you can have one, love,” said Daniel. “It’s probably too magical; we wouldn’t be able to let it loose.”

 

Caroline stuck her lip out, but she was old enough to know that there was no changing her father’s mind when it came to magical items in their house..

 

“We could get a Quaffle, though,” Daniel said, and Hermione turned around and nodded. “Do you want a Quaffle? It’s bigger than a Snitch, and we can play catch with it.”

 

“Okay!”

 

Ron leaned into Hermione and whispered in her ear, “Are we allowed to get her a Snitch for Christmas? We could keep it at our place for when she comes to visit.”

 

“That might work,” she whispered back, “But we’ll talk about it later.”

 

Reporters for the Quibbler and BBC Wiz, along with various other media outlets around the continent, swarmed the doorway leading into the Holyhead locker room. As they saw the group approach, saw the scar on Harry’s forehead, they immediately turned switched their attention.

 

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter!”

 

“Harry, can you tell us why Ginny’s quitting the team? Did you request for her to leave?”

 

“Mr. Potter, can you answer the rumors of a falling out between Gwenog Jones and your wife?”

 

“Herr Potter,” a portly man with a walrus mustache said, holding his hand out. “Wolfgang Blitzen, _Tagliches Orikel._  Ve vere vondering if you might give us an exclusive interview about your battle _mit Der Schwarze Zauberer_.”

 

“I’m not giving interviews, thank you,” Harry said quickly, pushing his way through the throng. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

 

“Hello, luv,” a voice came steaming out of the crowd. Harry froze in his tracks.  _Oh, God, no…_

 

“Skeeter, what are you doing here?”

 

“I’m a sports fan,” said Rita Skeeter, Quick Quill poised beside her. “And I’m still waiting for that interview with Lancelot and his Guinevere.”

 

“You’ll be waiting a long time for that, Rita,” said Harry. “Talk to the German guy, I already gave him your answer.”

 

“Chipper, as always,” Rita said with a sneer. “Ah, well, I’ll get it out of you eventually, Harry. I always do.” She turned to Ron and Hermione. “How about Galahad and… umm… Miss Morgan le Fay here?”

 

Ron stepped forward. “Don’t you call her that!”

 

“I can call her whatever I want, dear,” said Rita. “Artistic license, you know.”

 

“Lovely,” said Hermione. “Have you spoken to Rolf Scamander yet?”

 

“Who’s that?”

 

“He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” Hermione explained. “Beast Division. He’s the wizard in charge of Animagus registration. He might be an interesting interview. If you’d like, I could send him by your place some day, maybe with a few very nice Aurors? I think they’d be very interested in talking to you, too.”

 

The smirk on Rita’s face vanished, and her Quill stopped in mid-air. “No,” she said. “No, I don’t think I’ll be needing to interview him.”

 

“Are you sure?” said Hermione. “Pity. Oh, well. Keep up the good work, Rita. I’d be more than happy to tell any of these fine reporters how much you just _love_ to ‘bug’ us for information.” She raised her hand and gave Rita a girlish wave. “Toodles!”

 

Harry looked at Rita, shrugged, and walked through the door, his family stepping into the locker room entranceway behind him. He closed the door on the reporters, who were warily eyeing a stunned Rita Skeeter.

 

“Oh, boy, do I love you,” Ron said to Hermione. “You’re so wicked sometimes.”

 

“I held back,” she said as he kissed her on the forehead. “I really wanted to just blab the truth.”

 

“Ah, it’s fun to see her squirm, though.”

 

“Thanks for sticking up for me out there, too.”

 

“Why would I do anything different?” said Ron. “She called you a… a…”

 

“You don’t know who Morgan le Fay is, do you?” said Hermione with an arched eyebrow.

 

“I thought some kind of buttered rum.”

 

“Close enough,” Hermione said, and kissed him on the lips.

 

“Bloody hell, Harry,” said Dudley quietly as they walked through the locker room, keeping the swear words out of the earshot of the children. “I thought you were being overdramatic when you told us about the publicity.”

 

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” said Harry, finding Phoebe Craig putting her gear into her travel bag. “Where’s Ginny?”

 

“Oh, hey, Harry,” said Phoebe. “She’s in the Healer’s room, last door down.”

 

“Thanks,” Harry replied, and the procession continued.

 

“Sucks balls,” Dudley muttered, taking another glance toward the front entrance, where another outburst from the reporters could be heard.

 

At last, they reached the Healer’s room. The door was closed with the curtain drawn. Harry knocked on the door.

 

“No media yet!” he heard Gwenog yell from inside.

 

“It’s not the media,” Harry replied. “It’s me and Ginny’s family!”

 

He heard the _click_ of the lock, and Gwenog opened the door. She looked over the group of ten men, women, and children crowded around the door, and then glanced back into the room.

 

“Don’t know if we can fit all of you in here,” she said.

 

“Those reporters are volves,” came a dark voice from behind them. They turned to see Viktor Krum walking through the locker room. The area under his cheeks was purple, and there was a bandage across the bridge of his nose. 

 

“Well, now we definitely can’t fit you all in here.”

 

“Do you know that the Skeeter voman is vith them?” Krum asked Harry. “The horrible von from the Tournament?”

 

“She is?” Gwenog sighed. “Bloody hell…”

 

“I did not know that she vos a sports reporter.”

 

“She probably has been since the press release came out about Weasel,” said Gwenog. “Dammit, I told the owners to keep it quiet, but _nooo_ …”

 

“Skeeter’s not going to be an issue,” said Hermione. “We have her by the short hairs; she’ll keep her distance.”

 

“How many can come in?” Harry asked. Gwenog turned around and repeated the question to the Healer.

 

“Five,” came a voice from inside. “Six at the most after we’re out of here.”

 

“Are you going somewhere?” asked Harry.

 

“You all need to talk,” said Gwenog. “We don’t want to get in the way.”

 

“We’ll stay out here,” said Susan.

 

“Just so long as we don’t have to go back out with the reporters any time soon,” said Dudley.

 

Gwenog shook her head wearily. “I suppose I’d better talk to them,” she said. “I can at least send them away until tomorrow.”

 

“You all go ahead,” said Daniel. “Caroline and I can stick it out here. Maybe get some autographs.”

 

“You caught the Snitch!” Caroline said to Gwenog.

 

“That’s right,” Jones replied, trying her best to brighten her voice for the little girl. “Would you like to see it?” Caroline nodded her head vigorously.

 

“Teddy?” said Susan. “Do you want to see the Snitch, too?”

 

“I want to see Ginny…” Teddy said, his hair now a dark blue.

 

“You all can come in,” said Gwenog as Teddy grabbed Harry’s hand.

 

“I vill not come in,” said Viktor, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Tell your vife that she made a brilliant move. She von the match fairly, and I am not upset.”

 

“Are you going to be alright?” asked Harry, pointing to Viktor’s face.

 

“It is just a broken nose,” Viktor shrugged. “Our Healer vill deal vit it ven I get back our lockers.”

 

Harry nodded, patted Viktor on the shoulder, and walked Teddy into the room. Ron, Hermione, Arthur, and Molly followed close behind and closed the door behind them. It was a small room, cement with white paint. Katie Bell sat on one of three beds, stripped to a sports bra and jogging pants. Her midsection was wrapped in a large bandage that appeared to be painted with some kind of purple potion. On the other bed…

 

“Ginny!” Teddy yelled, breaking away from Harry and running to his godmother. She was sitting up on the bed, with the Healer next to her. One sleeve of her robe was cut away, and Harry could see that her arm below the elbow was a bruised and bloodied mess.

 

“Hey, sweetie,” Ginny said as Teddy climbed up onto the bed. She wrapped her uninjured arm around him, making sure that he kept away from her other side, and kissed him on the cheek. “Ginny’s hurt, so go easy, okay?”

 

“You have an owwie,” Teddy said in a hushed tone, looking at her arm, as Molly rushed up and wrapped her arms around Ginny.

 

“Mum, Mum, ow,” said Ginny.

 

“Sorry, dear,” said Molly, wiping her eyes. “I just…” She broke off, and reached out to touch Ginny’s cheek.

 

“Yeah, I have a big owwie,” Ginny said to Teddy and Molly both. “But I’ll be just fine.”

 

“Can you take one of these?” asked Harry, walking up to kiss her.

 

Ginny gladly reciprocated. “Yes,” she said as he broke away. “Yes, I think I can accept kisses without pain.”

 

“How are you feeling, Katie?” Hermione asked Katie Bell, who shrugged, flinching when she did so.

 

“Volkov used me as his punching bag,” she said. “I’m just one big blue lump under these potions.”

 

“How bad is the owwie?” Arthur asked the Healer, pointing at Ginny’s arm.

 

“And who are you?”

 

“I’m her father.”

 

“It’s bad,” she replied. “It was bad enough before she got back on the broom. And it’s worse now. The bone actually punctured skin a few times, and Merlin knows how much extra strain she put on it when she pulled that stupid move at the end of the match.”

 

“Merlin’s pants,” Ron breathed. “Ginny, you’re a bloody warrior.”

 

“It was nothing,” Ginny said, finding enough blood to blush under her brother’s compliment. “I was just helping the team win.”

 

“Well, your _help_ is going to land you in St. Mungo’s for the night,” the Healer said sternly. “I can only patch you up so much, but the way that this bone’s looking… they might just need to remove it completely and give you an evening with the Skele-Gro.”

 

“Oh, bloody Hell,” Ginny groaned.

 

“I’m the last person you should be complaining to, Potter,” said the Healer. “I told you that you shouldn’t keep going. I told you I wash my hands of this completely. Anything that St. Mungo’s does to heal you, no matter how painful, is none of my concern. Be lucky I’m giving you _this_ much attention, and be thankful that your arm didn’t tear off completely.”

 

“It’s appreciated, Kelly.”

 

“Well, I’ve done all I can,” the Healer, Kelly, said, standing up. “I’ll Floo the hospital, make sure they get a room ready for you.”

 

“Thanks,” said Ginny as Kelly left the room, closing the door behind her.

 

“Do you want me to leave, Ginny?” Katie asked. “I think the potion’s soaked in enough where I can toss a sweatshirt on over this and get out of here.”

 

“It’s up to you,” Ginny said as Teddy settled on her lap.

 

“Okay, can I say it first?” said Ron, raising his hand. “Ginny, that was the best Quidditch match I’ve ever seen.”

 

“What were you thinking, though?” Harry said, his eyes darting between Ginny’s face and her broken arm. “I mean, to put your arm in the way like that…”

 

“I know, it was stupid,” said Ginny.

 

“Stupid, nothing,” said Ron with a broad grin on his face. “It was the most brainless thing you’ve ever done, and you’re going to go down in Quidditch history for it! You couldn’t have scripted it any better.”

 

“Yeah,” Ginny sighed. “I needed to do what I could for my last match. I didn’t really care about the consequences.”

 

“What’s all of this talk about your last match?” asked Arthur. “What happened? Are they trading you? Letting you go?”

 

“No, no, it’s not that at all,” Ginny said. “I love it here, and they love me. It’s just that I’ll be too far along by the time next season starts. I won’t be able to play.”

 

“Too far along with what?” Ron asked. “Are you going somewhere? Are you sick?”

 

But Hermione had her hand over her mouth, and her eyes were wide. “Ginny,” she breathed. “You… you…”

 

Ginny nodded, blushing. “I, I,” she said with a small smile.

 

“You’re what?” Ron asked.

 

Ginny looked Harry in the eyes.

 

“Harry, I’m pregnant.”

 

Harry stared back at her, his brain not computing what he just heard.

 

“You’re what?”

 

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated. “We’re going to have a baby.”

 

Molly and Hermione both screamed in joy at the same time, and Arthur collapsed into the nearest chair. Ron’s mouth just dropped open.

 

Harry stared blankly at her. “But… but how…?”

 

“You know how,” Ginny smirked. “But I’m not going to tell you in front of Teddy or my parents.”

“I mean…” Harry babbled. “Your… your period… Didn’t you just have one? You didn’t miss it, did you?”

 

“Harry, don’t be such a Muggle,” Hermione said with a broad grin. “Magical pregnancy tests can be done hours after conception.”

 

“It’s only been a few weeks,” said Ginny. “I just found out about it before the match. The Healers run weekly diagnostic spells on all of the players, to make sure we’re not sick or jinxed or anything. It’s standard practice for every team in the League. And… well…”

 

“So when you threw your arm in front of the Bludger…” Ron said, finally able to find his tongue.

 

“Like I said, it was stupid,” Ginny replied, glancing down at her broken arm. “They had given me a little extra padding for my stomach after I convinced them to not replace me with a reserve.”

 

“We tried, Harry, seriously,” said Katie. “You should have seen Gwen, she was extremely protective of her Weasel. When we caught Ginny after she fell of her broom, I think we were all thinking ‘Don’t let the pregnant girl hit the ground!’”

 

“If I had been any further along they probably wouldn’t have let me play at all,” Ginny continued. “But, like I said, it was instinct. I had a feeling that a Bludger to the stomach probably wouldn’t be the best thing for someone in my position, padding or not. So I put my arm in front of it.”

 

“It was stupid…” Harry agreed, but just barely.

 

“The arm will heal,” said Ginny. “But I honestly don’t know how far along a woman has to be before they can have a miscarriage. I wasn’t planning on finding out.”

 

“You’re going to be a Mummy?” Teddy asked Ginny.

 

“That’s right, Teddy,” Ginny said. “I’m going to be a Mummy.”

 

“Is it a boy?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Ginny. “We’ll find out in nine months.”

 

“We have to wait that long?”

 

Harry’s lip twitched. “We’re pregnant...”

 

Ginny looked at him with an arched eyebrow. “Well, _I’m_ pregnant, but yes…”

 

“We’re going to have a baby…”

 

She smiled. “Yes, we are.”

 

The words hit home. Harry’s face broke into a huge smile. “Oh, my God, we’re going to have a baby!”

 

Ginny’s grin matched, if not exceeded, his own. He put his hand on her cheek and looked her up and down.

 

“God, I want to hug you right now, but I can’t,” he said, chuckling through the tears.

 

“Hermione!” Ginny said. “Hug my man for me, would you?”

 

Hermione Weasley didn’t hesitate, and threw herself at Harry, who spun her around, laughing.

 

“Congratulations,” she said, and Ron came behind her and hugged Harry himself.

 

“Teddy, hug my girl for me,” Harry said after Ron let go. Teddy wrapped his arms around Ginny’s neck, and Ginny squeezed him with her good arm. Molly and Arthur stood off to the side, Arthur still seated, his hand holding Molly’s, their faces shining.

 

Harry bent down to kiss Ginny like he did when they were in her bedroom on his seventeenth. He didn’t even care who was watching this time. If he couldn’t hug her…

 

“I love you,” said Harry.

 

“I love you,” Ginny replied. “And I’m expecting plenty of attention after I get out of St. Mungo’s.”

 

“I’ll be there when you go to sleep,” he said. “And I’ll be there when you wake up.”

 

“See?” said Ginny, kissing him ag ain. “I knew I picked the right guy.”


	18. Five and a Half Years Later: One Cold Night in February

Five and a Half Years Later: 

One Cold Night in February

 

\---------

 

Professor Neville Longbottom opened the door to his Hogsmeade flat, the wind and snow howling in the dark outside. He quickly locked out the elements, and a shiver passed through him as his cold body adjusted to the sudden temperature change.

 

_There are a lot of positives about working at Hogwarts,_ he thought as he pulled his scarf from around his neck and hung it on the coat rack.  _Having to walk the length of the grounds before you can Apparate anywhere is definitely not one of them._

 

He supposed he shouldn’t complain much. He sat down on the stool near the door and pulled his boots off, the snow melting from the heels onto the floor in a slushy plop. It’s certainly possible that, under the old Hogwarts regime, he could leave the grounds occasionally. But Neville didn’t think he would have felt comfortable walking out under the watchful eye of Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, or even Albus Dumbledore.

 

Heck, even the wave and wink he got from Hagrid tonight as he passed his hut was enough to make Neville blush and rethink his excursion.

 

_Forget it,_ Neville thought as he walked out of the entryway and into the small sitting room.  _Uriela said that she’d cover your post tonight. So just take advantage of the situation._

 

It was something else that Neville was still trying to get used to in his third school year at Hogwarts: the fact that the professors were now so much younger and more understanding than they were when he was a student. At twenty-three, Neville was still the youngest professor in the school, probably would be for a long time to come. But the gray hair was a lot thinner on the grounds than a decade ago. 

 

Flitwick was still there, of course. As was Slughorn. They weren’t getting any younger; Horace was talking about retirement in the next few years and Flitwick was probably thinking it, even if he wasn’t saying it. Hagrid was Hagrid; his half-giant blood kept him looking and acting much younger than his seventy-five years, and would probably let him live decades longer than anyone else he had attended school with. And Professor Binns wasn’t getting any older _or_ younger.

 

But beyond that… Clearly, the school governors had decided that they would prefer their educators to last more than a few years at a time. Professors Vector, Sinistra, and Trelawney were only in their early forties. As Neville learned in his time as professor, Septima and Aurora had been a year behind Professor Lupin, Professor Snape and Harry’s dad, and in the same year as Sirius Black’s younger brother, Regulus. 

 

Jana Allentide, Evelyn Bateman, and Calamus Squall, the new Transfiguration, Muggle Studies, and Defense Against the Dark Arts professors respectively, were around the same age as the Arithmancy and Astronomy teachers. Even the new Headmaster, Tiberius Ogden, was only in his early fifties, and was a classmate of Andromeda Tonks before moving on to a career in the Wizengamot.

 

The most surprising of all of the new professors, however, was Uriela Clavis, the new Ancient Runes professor. Replacing the retired Bathsheba Babbling just last year, Uriela had turned twenty-seven in only the past few weeks, and had actually attended Hogwarts with Neville through his fourth year. Much of the conversations she had had with Neville so far revolved around her time watching Ron Weasley’s brother, Charlie, on the Quidditch pitch, her time as a prefect with Percy Weasley and his now-wife, Penelope, and her many experiences with fellow Hufflepuff Nymphadora Tonks. 

 

Because of the closeness in their ages, and their relative inexperience in dealing with students and classes, Uriela and Neville had developed a sort of kinship in the five months since Clavis started working at the school. So of course, when she heard that Luna was in town for the weekend she insisted on taking Neville’s patrol duty, promising to send an owl or stick her head into a Floo and scream her head off if trouble arose.

 

“My only payment is an ale and a breakdown of the randy details during the next Hogsmeade weekend,” Uriela had teased when she visited the Hogwarts greenhouses that afternoon. The visit between classes had become something of a routine over time, as her five-class workload was so much thinner than Neville’s twelve. Longbottom responded to the snide comment by flicking a spadeful of dragon fertilizer at her.

 

Neville now looked at the clock on his drawing room wall. Nine o'clock.  _I should still have time to change before I Floo Luna,_ he thought as he walked down the short hall to his bedroom.  _Xeno doesn’t get too upset about calls before nine thirty or ten. I’ll Floo her, and she can come over, and we can grab a bite and a drink at the Three Broomsticks before…_

 

He froze as he passed through the door to his room.

 

“Hello, Neville,” Luna Lovegood said as she set her issue of _The Quibbler_ on the bed stand along with her Spectrespecs.

 

“Hello,” Neville said as his heart resumed its normal pace. “I didn’t expect to see you so early.”

 

“I used the spare key you gave me over the summer,” she said, crossing her hands serenely on her sheet-covered lap. “You don’t mind?”

 

“Of course, I don’t,” he replied with a smile. “I just thought you’d be going home first. I was going to Floo you in a few minutes.”

 

“I’ll go home tomorrow,” she said. “I don’t always tell my father when I’m arriving, and he rarely remembers even when I do tell him.”

 

“Just so long as he gets his article, eh?” Neville asked, sitting down on the end of his bed.

 

“Just so long as he gets his article,” Luna agreed. “Besides, it’s much easier to be comfortable in your house than in his. You have a nicer bed, and it’s so much quieter without the printing press running.”

 

“So that’s why you’re here already?” Neville asked, scooting his way up the bed. “Long trip?”

 

“It was a long trip,” Luna nodded. “But it was nice. Chinese wildlife is very interesting.”

 

“Is that why you’re naked in my bed?” Neville smirked. “Or are you just topless?”

 

“Of course I’m naked,” Luna said, looking down at her bare white breasts, illuminated by the single candle on the stand.

 

“Part of your relaxation?”

 

“It is,” she said matter-of-factly. “The nights when I stay here and you’re at Hogwarts, I usually sleep naked. It helps me relax. I hope you don’t mind?”

 

“Do you hear me complaining?”

 

“Usually, I’m not naked this early,” said Luna. “But I thought we could have sex first, and then talk or eat or whatever you were planning for us to do tonight. That way, in case we're tired later, we would have already had our sex. And if we’re not tired, we could have sex again before we went to sleep.”

 

Neville shook his head in amusement. “I love the way you think,” he said. “Right to the point.”

 

When Luna shrugged, Neville couldn’t help but be transfixed by the bounce. “We haven't seen each other since the last Hogsmeade weekend,” she said. “I have been thinking about seeing you again for the past month, and I’ve been aroused quite often because of those thoughts. I don’t want foreplay tonight, I just wanted to have sex with you as soon as I could.”

 

“Once again, I _love_ the way you think…”

 

“You _do_ want to have sex with me tonight, don’t you?”

 

Neville Longbottom responded the best way that he knew how: by pushing himself to the head of the bed and kissing Luna as passionately as he could muster. Luna responded, her soft lips parting, their tongues meeting in the middle. Her hand slipped around to the back of his head, and as she inhaled through her nose, she pulled back.

 

“Neville?”

 

“Hmm?” he said, half in a stupor from the first kiss he had gotten from his girlfriend in months.

 

“You smell like dragon dung.”

 

“Wha?” he said, and then realized what she was saying. He looked down at his robes and groaned. “Sorry,” he said, pulling it off and throwing it in the corner. “Long day at work. I was going to change before I called you.”

 

“You didn't expect me to be here,” said Luna as she unbuttoned the shirt Neville had been wearing beneath the robe. “So I can accept your odor.”

 

“We can probably shower afterwards,” said Neville. “Or take a bath. If you’re interested, that is.”

 

Luna pulled Neville’s grubby button-down flannel from his back and tossed it into the corner with his robe. “Of course I’m interested,” she replied before pulling him back into her kiss. Neville’s hand slid up Luna’s chest, feeling her pale nipples harden under his fingertips. Luna released a high-pitched moan into his mouth, and four hands struggled as one to unclasp Neville’s belt and remove his pants and underwear.

 

“One of these days we should just use our wands,” grunted Neville as he fell back into a sitting position and yanked them down to his ankles. “Just make our clothes disappear, or transfigure them into handkerchiefs.”

 

“I didn’t think of that,” said Luna. “We’ll have to do that next time.”

 

“Just our luck, we’ll be too turned on,” said Neville, finally removing his boxer shorts. “Lose our concentration. Your bra would turn into a parakeet and fly out the window.”

 

\---------

 

The first time didn’t last very long, as it rarely does for two lovers who have barely seen each other’s faces in a good while. But Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood finished together, collapsed together, and held each other. And that’s all that either of them really wanted in that moment. 

 

“Do you feel better?” Luna asked later.

 

“Well, I felt better from the moment I saw you,” Neville said, his face partially muffled by the pillow. “But this is just frosting on the cake.”

 

Neville was lying face down on the bed, clad only in his shorts. Luna was straddling his hips, kneading his back, scarred forever from his many encounters with the Carrows, with her fingers. Luna carried a few of her own, slight traces across her arms and stomach, as well as one deep gash on her back from a detention with Alecto that had gotten out of hand, and probably would have been worse had Professor Snape not intervened.

 

For the most part, she had gotten off easily compared to other classmates. She had been in the custody of the Malfoys and at Shell Cottage for most of the school year, and the time that she had been at Hogwarts, she had always had difficulty finding the courage for rebellion that had come to Neville and Ginny so easily. 

 

Even now, the scars were mostly hidden from view. Neville’s fleece, hanging unbuttoned across her otherwise naked torso, was protecting her from the chill that they had both felt after their initial hormonal surge subsided. The only fireplace in the flat was in the drawing room, and neither of them had the energy to get up and light it.

 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he weakly protested as she hit every muscle that had tightened from months of dealing with teenage wizards.

 

“I enjoy doing it,” Luna replied. “It’s part of my relaxation.”

 

“Mine, too,” Neville smiled. “I can give you one later, if you want. I just can’t promise it’ll be as good.”

 

“I like it whenever you touch me,” said Luna, bending over to kiss his neck, her breasts pressed against his back. “Any massage you give me is a nice massage.”

 

“Where’d you learn to do this again?” Neville asked as he felt his own goosebumps pass through him.

 

“Japan,” Luna replied. “I wrenched my back chasing a Kyoto Krumpler, and one of the girls on the expedition taught me some techniques after giving me a massage.”

 

“I would have liked to have seen that,” Neville said with a chuckle.

 

“She was very pretty,” said Luna. “Short and skinny. Dark hair. She had a bony ridge across her forehead and tusks as long as my wand.”

 

Neville sat in confused silence for a moment. “Ummm… what?”

 

“The Krumpler,” Luna explained. “She was a wonderful specimen. I only wish I could have brought photographs home, considering I had only been looking for a Japanese Firebreath. It would have been on the front page.”

 

“Oh, right,” Neville said slowly. “The… the Krumpler. Yeah…”

 

“The girl was very nice, too,” Luna continued.

 

“Well, I wish I had been there either way,” Neville said with a sigh.

 

“I wish you had, too,” said Luna quietly. “I always wish you were with me. I miss you very much.”

 

“I miss you, too,” Neville said. The two sat in a silence broken only by the howling wind, which had picked up since Neville had arrived home an hour ago.

 

“Luna?”

 

“Yes, Neville?”

 

“Is this working?” Neville asked.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean us,” said Neville. “I mean, you’re still okay with this? With what we’re doing?”

 

Luna sat in silence her massage stopped.

 

“I don't know how to answer that,” she said finally, her fingers now gently trailing instead of kneading. “I don't know if there is a good answer. I’m not okay with this. I’m not okay with being apart from you for months at a time. I’m not okay with falling asleep every night wishing that you were next to me.”

 

“I know what you’re saying,” said Neville, knowing how many nights he slept in his small unit beside the Hogwarts greenhouse, wishing that Luna were with him.

 

“But I also know that I love you,” she continued. “And I know that, as long as there’s no one that I love more, no one who loves me more, then I’m okay with this. Because seeing you a few times a year is still better than coming home to no one at all.”

 

“So there hasn’t been anyone else?” Neville asked. “No one who you’ve turned down because you and I are together? Because I know I can’t give you everything that you deserve, all the time that…”

 

“There hasn’t been anyone else,” Luna interrupted, tracing his scars with her fingers. “I won’t close my mind to the idea that there might be someone else sometime in my future. If someone comes along whom I love more than I love you, then I will make that decision then. And I hope that you would do the same if someone comes along in your life. Love’s too important to throw away, but it’s also too important to ignore.”

 

“There hasn’t been anyone else,” said Neville. “It’s always been you. I haven’t met anyone who might change that.”

 

_Have I?_  A face briefly and unexpectedly flashed into his mind. It held for a moment, but he quickly pushed it back.

 

_No one,_ he responded.  _No one that I love more than Luna._

 

“Just keep your mind open to the possibility,” said Luna. “That’s all that I ask of you. I love you too much to trap you. The future’s too uncertain to make promises, especially with what we’ve chosen to do with our lives.”

 

Neville rolled over to face her. He reached up and caressed her cheek.

 

“I love you,” he said. “If it makes you feel any better, I can say that I love you _right now_. But I’ll keep my options open. How’s that?”

 

“That’s what I want to hear,” she said. “And that’s all that I need to hear right now.”

 

She bent down to kiss him.

 

“So how long are you here?” Neville asked when she pulled away.

 

“Until Monday,” said Luna. “And then I leave for three weeks.”

 

“For where?”

 

“Greenland.”

 

“Well, at least you’ll be closer this time.”

 

“Yes, I will be.”

 

“I’ll try to see if I can come down next time you come home,” said Neville. “Everyone’s still trying to gauge Tiberius’s patience about the professors going off for personal holidays.”

 

“This is a holiday?” asked Luna.

 

Neville shrugged. “Might be,” he said. “Might just be nothing. We’re still not sure yet. Things have changed post-Voldemort, but we’re still not sure what kind of balance we should have between protecting the students and _over_ protecting them.”

 

“Just so long as you’re not getting into any trouble for me.”

 

“I’m probably not,” Neville said. “Uriela’s supposed to have tonight off, but she’s taking my post so I could slip down here. But just so long as I’m back by breakfast I should be okay.”

 

“Great Hall breakfasts,” said Luna. “I miss those, too. Father’s not a very good cook, and I eat so much trail food.”

 

“Do you want to come up with me?” asked Neville. “I mean, visitation’s a little iffy, but I think Filius wouldn’t have a problem with you showing up. He’s still deputy Headmaster, and you were always one of his favorites.”

 

“I was?” Luna said.

 

“He says it all the time,” Neville smiled. “Every time I talk about you, he mentions something brilliant that you did in Charms.”

 

“So he knows about us?”

 

“Well, he knows we’re dating,” said Neville. “I’m pretty sure everyone who saw us kissing at the reception knows that we’re dating. But if he knows about the orgasm part, I _really_ don’t want to talk to him about it.”

 

“It is sweet of him to say,” said Luna.

 

“You can thank him personally,” said Neville. “Come on, what do you say? Come up with me tomorrow? Say hi to Filius and Aurora? Pop into Hagrid’s hut? And Uriela’s dying to meet you.”

 

“That would be nice,” said Luna. “But do you think we’ll be able to be awake that early? We still haven’t gone out.”

 

“Were we still going out?” asked Neville.

 

“I wouldn’t mind staying here,” said Luna, and Neville felt a bit of wetness against his stomach.

 

“Yeah, I think I’m in a ‘staying in’ mood tonight, too. If we get hungry later I could always make a quick run over to the Hog’s Head and get Aberforth to make us a couple sandwiches.”

 

“After we have sex again, right?” Luna asked, rubbing against his stomach.

 

Neville just smiled. Luna slid down his body, undid the fly on his boxers, and pulled him out. She adjusted herself above him, and slid down with ease. They both moaned in unison. Neville reached up and pulled his flannel shirt away from her breasts, squeezing them and playing with her hard nipples as she bounced up and down on top of him.

 

“Oh, Neville,” she gasped, bending down to kiss him. Outside, the wind tapped against the windowpane.

 

Neville kissed her back, one hand running through her hair as his other slid between her legs, his fingers teasing her as he continued to move in and out of her.

 

The wind continued to tap, harder than before.

 

“It’s really picking up out there,” Neville panted as he moved into a sitting position, Luna straddling his lap.

 

“It is,” Luna said between kisses. “But there’s an owl outside making that noise.”

 

“Uriela must be checking on me,” said Neville as the two continued to move in rhythm. “I’ll get it when we’re done.”

 

“I’m almost… Ohhhh,” Luna cried. “But it’s not a school owl. It’s Artemisia.”

 

“Arte… Hermione’s owl?” Neville said as he finally stopped thrusting. “But why would she let her out in this weather?”

 

“It must be something… uhnnn… important,” said Luna, who continued to move up and down even after Neville stopped. “Maybe we should… Oh my….”

 

“Are you almost there?”

 

“Yes, but I just… go, let her in!”

 

Luna climbed off Neville, and Neville, still at attention, pulled himself from the bed and across to the window. He felt a blast of cold air and snow against his nearly naked body as he opened it, and Artemisia, the larger and more durable of Ron and Hermione Weasley’s owls, flew into the room and landed on his headboard.

 

Neville reached for the owl’s leg, where a small note was attached, but flinched back. “Ow, stop pecking!” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you in right away. You know how it is.”

 

“She does,” said Luna. “Ron and Hermione have had sex in the kitchen many times.Iit’s not anything she hasn’t seen before. I think she’s just cold.”

 

“Don’t know if that’s necessarily anything I ever wanted to know,” said Neville. “But thanks for the information.” Eventually Artemisia relented, and Neville pulled the note from her leg. He opened it.

 

_It’s time,_ the note read in Ron’s sloppy scrawl.  _Ginny and Harry are at Mungo’s. Meet us there._

 

“Holy shit,” Neville gasped, plopping down onto the bed.

 

“Is it what I think it is?” Luna asked as she buttoned Neville’s shirt over her chest.

 

“I think so,” said Neville, handing her the note. “Unless Ron’s being really cryptic, Ginny’s in labor.”

 

“That’s wonderful,” said Luna. “We’re going, right?”

 

“Of course we are,” said Neville, a big grin on his face as he bounced to his feet and walked to his dresser. “I hope you don’t mind.”

 

“Just give me a moment,” said Luna. Neville watched with wide eyes as she reached between her legs, rubbed for about five seconds, then let out a squeak and a sigh. “Okay, now I’m done. Now we can go.”

 

Neville stared at her with his jaw dropped as Luna stood up and walked across the room to where her pants and knickers were folded neatly on a chair.  “Don’t ever do that again,” he said.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because it makes me want to jump you,” he admitted as he pulled a clean shirt from his drawer. “And we don’t have the time right now.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she said as she pulled her knickers on. “I needed to orgasm, and I didn’t want to wait till we have sex again tomorrow morning. Do you mind if I wear your shirt? It’s very comfortable.”  
  
Neville blinked, once again trying to clear his mind of dirty thoughts about his girlfriend. “Yeah, go ahead,” he said, walking back to the bed and holding his arm out to Artemisia, who climbed onto it willingly enough. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you,” Neville admitted to the owl. “I don’t keep any owl food. If you’re not ready to fly back to Tutshill you can go up to Hogwarts for the night.”

 

Artemisia gave Neville an impatient glance, but fluttered her wings in consent. Neville opened the window again, and the bird flew out into the night.

 

“So, are we ready to go?” Neville said as he closed the window behind him.

 

“You still need pants,” Luna said, pointing to his boxers.

 

“Oh, right,” he replied. He quickly pulled on the pair he had worn at school before taking Luna’s hand and walking her into the drawing room.

 

“This is so exciting,” said Luna. “I wonder if it’s going to be a boy or a girl.”

 

“We’re going to find out soon enough,” Neville replied, handing her the flowerpot. “Ladies first?”

 

“Thank you,” Luna said, taking a handful of powder and stepping into the fireplace. “St. Mungos!” she said in her loudest voice (only a few steps louder than her quietest one), and disappeared in a burst of green flame.

 

Neville took a handful for himself and set the flowerpot back on the mantle. As he stepped into the fireplace, that small burst of thought from earlier continued to nip at him. That face that jumped into his mind. The face of Uriela Clavis.

 

_She’s just a friend,_ he argued to himself.  _That’s all. I barely know her._

 

_Keep your mind open,_ he heard Luna say.  _That’s all I ask._

 

_I will,_ he decided.  _Just not right now. I love Luna too much to think of anyone else._

 

“St Mungo’s!”

 

\---------

 

Neville stepped out into a giant Floo station, with a dozen fireplaces lining the walls of an otherwise white room. Luna stood patiently waiting for him, and together they walked down the hall, where it split into two different directions, a sign hanging between the two:

 

<\--St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

St Mungo’s Clinic for Checkups, Childbirth, and Therapies-->

 

They took the right hall, which lead to another small room. Three gated elevators sat waiting for them with their doors open.

 

“It’s kind of quiet, isn’t it?” asked Neville.

 

“It’s almost eleven,” said Luna as the elevator gate closed and moved down to the lower levels of the hospital. “Most of the visitors have gone for the night, it will only be staff and emergency patients.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” said Neville quietly. The only times he had ever come to Mungo’s was during daylight hours, when Gran had taken him to the clinic for checkups or when he was seeing his parents in the hospital across the street. He briefly thought that he should visit them while he was here, and then realized that, even if he could be allowed in at this time of night, the two of them were probably asleep.

 

“Do you want to meet my parents sometime?” he asked suddenly, surprising even himself as he asked the question, and quickly backpedaled. “I mean, I know it might be odd, and if you’re not comfortable with it, you can just…”

 

“That would be nice,” said Luna, who had learned about Neville’s mother and father during Neville’s seventh year. She was still the only one who he had ever outright told, as Harry and the others had come across them by accident. And it wasn’t that Neville was ashamed of them, far from it. He just…

 

Luna seemed to recognize Neville’s discomfort, and closed her hand over his as the elevator doors opened.

 

“Third floor,” a polite female voice said overhead. “Childbirth and children’s services.” The two stepped out of the elevator and into a small, darkened waiting room. A night-shift nurse sat at a desk, idly scratching a number puzzle beneath a floating glowing ball. As she heard their footsteps, she looked up.

 

“Visiting hours are eight to five,” she said in a tired-sounding, droning voice. “If this is an emergency, please return to the ground floor and make your way to the Magical Maladies hospital, if you believe that you’re pregnant, here’s a pamphlet that teaches you the pregnancy test spells and someone will speak to you in the morning.” She pulled out a pink flyer, a giggling cartoon baby bouncing across the front and the words _So You Think You Might Be Preggers?_ written across the top.

 

“We’re here to see Ginevra Potter,” said Luna as Neville reflexively took the flyer from the nurse’s hand.

 

The nurse stared at the couple, her narrowed eyes darting up to the tops of their heads. “Are you family?” she asked darkly, recognizing that neither of them had red hair.

 

“No, we’re her friends,” said Neville. “We received an owl.”

 

“Family only,” said the nurse, returning to her puzzle.

 

“But…”

 

“Family _only_ ,” the nurse repeated more forcefully as a small ding emanated from the elevators behind them.

 

“They’re fine, Maude,” came a voice from the opening elevator doors. “They’re not press.”

 

Neville and Luna turned around to see Charlie and Penelope Weasley stepping out of the elevator, both with numerous paper sacks nestled in their arms.

 

“Are you sure?” the nurse, Maude, said warily. “They might be Polyjuiced media.”

 

“Luna,” Charlie sighed. “What’s Ginny’s Patronus?”

 

“A horse,” Luna replied.

 

“They’re fine,” Charlie repeated.

 

“Follow these two,” Maude said, relenting. “Family’s in the third door on your right.”

 

“Thank you,” said Luna as the four left the waiting room and walked down the hall.

 

“Sorry about all that,” said Charlie. “They’re kind of dying down, but there have been three or four of the gossip column types that have tried to squeeze their way through already.”

 

“Do you two need help carrying… whatever it is you’re carrying?” Neville asked.

 

“McDonald’s,” said Penelope, bending over so Neville and Luna could take a bag each from her and from Charlie. Neville could see a slight bulge beneath her arms, and he wasn’t sure if Penelope had put on weight, or if she was expecting herself. “Some Muggle place. The cafeteria was closed, we were all getting hungry, and it was the only thing open this late within walking distance.”

 

“How long have you been here?”

 

“Personally?” said Penelope. “About two or three hours. Ginny’s water broke about ten hours ago, so we’ve been trickling in ever since.”

 

“No pun intended,” said Charlie.

 

“No pun even thought of,” Penelope replied. “That’s disgusting.”

 

“You take after your husband too much,” Charlie chuckled as they entered the family waiting room. The first thing they saw was George, Verity, and Hermione Weasley bent over a small table, feathered quills moving as they wrote on small parchments of paper. To their right, Ron and Bill were slouched over a game of Wizard Chess, their eyes drooping as though this probably wasn’t their first round. On Neville’s left, Arthur sat calmly, sipping a tea and reading a copy of _Popular Mechanics_ while Petunia Evans nervously paced back and forth.

 

“Hey, kids,” George Weasley said, looking up. “Grab a quill, they set us to work.”

 

“Work doing what?” Neville asked as they stepped into the room.

 

“Writing announcements,” said Verity, leaning over the table beside her husband and writing on a small piece of parchment. “You don’t really have to help, though, we’re almost done.”

 

“Well, the hard part’s almost done, anyway,” George corrected. “The name’s still blank till we hear boy or girl. So’s the birth date, in case this party goes to the wee small hours.”

 

“Either way, they can’t do much,” said Hermione. “We’ll have to be the ones to write those in, or else it’ll all look sloppy.”

 

George stared down at the page in front of him, and dropped his quill. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “How’d I get roped into this again?”

 

“My job is taking the notes to the owls because my handwriting looks like chicken scratch,” said Ron. “Knight to E7.”

 

“So does mine,” Bill agreed. “And since I get too many odd looks going out into Muggle public, the two calligraphers here got to go get the food. Which left you. Bishop to D5.”

 

“Glad you two made it,” said Hermione, standing up to hug Neville and Luna.

 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Neville.

 

“So I take it Pig and Artie found you two okay?” asked Ron.

 

“Pig?” gaped Neville. “You sent out _Pigwidgeon_ , too? In this weather?”

 

“He’s tougher than he looks,” said Ron defensively. “You mean he didn’t get to Hogwarts? I sent Pig to Neville and Artie to Luna before we left.”

 

“We only received Artemisia,” said Luna. “I was at Neville’s when she arrived.”

 

“You were? Neville, aren’t you supposed to be at school?”

 

“I took the night off,” Neville shrugged. “Clavis is taking my post, I’m supposed to head back tomorrow morning.”

 

“Uriela Clavis?” asked Penelope, dropping her sacks on the table and sitting down beside Verity.

 

“That’s her.”

 

“What’s she doing up there?”

 

“She’s the new Ancient Runes professor,” Neville explained, which caused Hermione to start.

 

“She is?” Hermione asked as she sat back down. “Is she any good? I mean, Professor Babbling was excellent, it was a shame she had to retire, and I hope this woman knows what she’s doing.”

 

“She’s doing fine,” said Neville.

 

“I just hope it’s in good hands,” she continued, Luna sitting next to her. “It was my favorite subject.”

 

“I thought Arithmancy was your favorite subject?” asked Neville.

 

“This is Hermione you’re talking to,” said Ron as he stood up to pull a hamburger from one of the sacks. “They were _all_ her favorite subjects.”

 

“Uriela’s good,” Penelope answered, trying to alleviate Hermione’s concern. “She was top marks in our year for Runes, and was behind me in line for Head Girl. They couldn’t have picked a better professor for the job. Tell her I say hi,” she added to Neville, who nodded in consent.

 

“So you were at Neville’s when Artemisia found you?” Hermione asked Luna.

 

“Yes, I was,” Luna said. “Can I have some chips?”

 

“Knock yourself out,” said George, pushing one of the sacks towards her.

 

“And that would explain why you’re wearing his shirt?” Hermione whispered with a small smile.

 

“Of course,” said Luna. “It was the only thing I was wearing when we were having sex, and I didn’t feel like changing when Artemisia arrived.”

 

Arthur choked on his tea, and Petunia stopped in mid-pace.

  
”Someone have their wand handy?” asked George quietly. “I need to be Obliviated.”

 

“Hermione, how many times have we talked about this?” said Ron. “Never ask Luna anything unless you _really_ want to hear the answer.”

 

“I don’t think she was offended,” said Luna to Ron. “As I told Neville, you and Hermione have had sex in the kitchen many times, so it’s not anything that Artemisia hasn’t seen.”

 

“Wand!” George yelled. “Somebody!  _Now_!” Bill, Charlie, and Verity burst into laughter.

 

“Sorry, Dad,” said Ron, blushing furiously, as he realized that Arthur’s tea had completely soaked his shirt.

 

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Arthur, pulling his wand from his pocket and siphoning it off. “You’re adults, you’re married, what you do with your own time is your business.”

 

“Oh, thank God,” said George at the sight of the wand. “Dad, clean me out, I don’t need to remember the last five minutes.”

 

“Does she always talk like that?” Petunia asked Penelope.

 

“Usually,” Penelope replied. “Made for some interesting conversations when I was her prefect.”

 

“Just don’t tell your mother,” Arthur continued. “I’m sure she could live with it, but she probably wouldn’t be over for dinner until she gave your kitchen a week-long scrubbing.”

 

“Where is Mrs. Weasley?” Neville asked. “Molly, I mean?” he corrected as he realized that he was in a room with three other _Mrs. Weasleys_.

 

“In the delivery room with Ginny and Harry,” said Arthur. “She was the only one home when Harry sent Kreacher to the Burrow, and she was here even before the ambulance arrived. I’ve barely even spoken to her except when she comes out to give us updates. It’s Ginny’s first, she wants her mum there with her.”

 

“Ambulance?” asked Neville. “Was something wrong? Didn’t Harry drive her?”

 

“He couldn’t,” explained Hermione. “They don’t have a car, since they haven’t found anywhere to park it in a Muggle neighborhood without attracting attention. And Healers recommend that pregnant women avoid any sort of teleportation, like Apparition, Floo Network, or Portkey. So that left the ambulance.”

 

“I still think she should get a midwife for the next one, if there is a next one,” said Penelope. “It would make things so much easier in her neighborhood.”

 

“So when did you get here?” Luna asked Arthur. “You were at work?”

 

“We both were,” said Petunia.

 

“Molly sent Kreacher to the Ministry,” Arthur continued. “And I called Petunia on her… what is it called again?”

 

"Mobile phone,” Petunia answered. “It doesn’t work in here, though.”

 

“Marvelous device,” Arthur said jovially. “Simply magnificent. Anyway, I called her before I Flooed the children. Hermione works on my floor, so I grabbed her, and we came from there.”

 

“This room’s been pretty much Party Central ever since,” said George. “I shut down the shop early, and Dad, Hermione, and Ms. Evans were already here when Ron, Verity, and I showed up. Fleur and Victoire were here for a while before Bill got off work. So were Andromeda and Teddy. But it was getting late for the tots, so they went home a few hours ago.”

 

“Dudley and Susan were both here for a bit, too,” said Hermione. “So was Percy, but they all have work in the morning.”

 

“And they all got the same grilling from the night watch that you two got,” said Charlie to Neville and Luna. “So don’t feel too bad about it.”

 

“What about you?” Neville asked Charlie. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Romania?”

 

“I didn’t think I’d be able to get here until tomorrow,” Charlie admitted. “But I got lucky. Someone cancelled their Portkey ticket late. I got in about two hours ago.”

 

“And she’s been in there for ten hours?”

 

“More or less,” said Arthur. “But Molly came out about two hours ago and said Ginny was close to fully dilated. So it shouldn’t be too much longer.”

 

“I do have to say that you’re really calm about all of this,” Neville said, impressed.

 

“Are you kidding?” Arthur chuckled. “I’m a wreck. I feel as anxious as Petunia looks.”

 

“What a sweet thing for you to say,” Petunia said with a roll of her eyes.

 

“Sit down, Petunia,” said Arthur. “You’re wearing a track in the carpeting.”

 

“Lilly and James aren’t here,” Petunia insisted. “I’m allowed to be nervous for both of them.”

 

“I’m sure they appreciate the effort,” said George. “In the meantime, have a chicken sandwich, you’re making me dizzy.”

 

Petunia, who usually looked at anything as greasy as McDonald’s with a sneer, relented, walking over to the table and pulling out a yellow-wrapped sandwich.

 

“It’s my little girl,” said Arthur to Neville and Luna. “Of course I’m nervous. But this isn’t the first Weasley grandchild, and it’s not going to be the last.” At this, he flipped his thumb to Penelope, who smiled softly. “So I’m trying to keep my wits about me, and hope it gets easier every time.”

 

“Congratulations,” said Luna to Penelope. “How far along are you?”

 

“About five months,” Penelope replied.

 

“You know, Uriela’s going to go ballistic when I tell her, right?” said Neville.

 

“I’m sure she will,” said Penelope, snorting laughter. “I’ll send her an owl, the baby should be around by the time the school year’s over.”

 

“Checkmate,” said Ron, cackling triumphantly as his bishop knocked Bill’s rook clear across the room. It rebounded against the wall with a tiny grunt, bounced off the chair beneath it, and fell to the ground, where it proceeded to sprout legs from the bottom of its tower and wander back to the rest of its pieces.

 

Bill sighed, rubbing his scarred face with his hands in weariness. “What’s the tally now?”

 

“I’m up five games to two,” said Ron. “I am invincible.”

 

“Oh, bollocks,” Bill sighed. “Anyone else want to take this fucking machine on? My brain’s shot.”

 

“What time is it, anyway?” asked Verity, yawning.

 

“Quarter to twelve,” said Petunia, pulling up her sleeve to read her watch.

 

“Quarter to midnight,” George muttered, sliding down in his chair as Verity’s head dropped onto his shoulder. “Sis better get her push on if she wants this baby born before the seventh.”

 

“The baby will come when it comes,” said Arthur. “It won’t be any less of a baby if it’s born tomorrow.”

 

\---------

 

_“There will be some discomfort,”_ the Healer had said to Harry and Ginny. It had been the day after the Quidditch match versus Vratsa. Ginny’s bones had been removed and regrown overnight, and the couple decided that they might as well get their first Healer visit for the pregnancy out of the way before they left St. Mungo’s.

 

_“I thought magic would be able to take most of the labor pains away,”_ Harry had said.

 

_“Well, it does do a better job than Muggle drugs,”_ the Healer continued. “ _The chemicals that they toss into their mothers make me more than a little nervous. We use some spells, we use some potions. But we try to limit them as much as possible.”_

 

_“Why’s that?”_

 

_“For the health and safety of the mother and the baby,”_ the Healer replied. “ _We have good Healers in this hospital, don’t get me wrong. But childbirth is stressful for everyone involved. One imperfectly-cast spell, one potion that’s stirred three times instead of four, could put everyone in a lot of danger. There are some times where we’ll take a risk to use difficult magic. But putting a mother’s life in jeopardy simply to alleviate some pain is not one of those risks._

 

_“Besides, pain exists for a reason. We need to know if there are any complications during the birth. And any abnormal pains will be a signal that wouldn’t be there if Ginevra was completely numb.”_

 

Ginny nodded in understanding. “ _I don’t want any more magic than I have to,”_ she said.  _“I’ve put up with a lot of pain.”_

 

_“I would say that you’ve put up with more than most women your age, Mrs. Potter,”_ said the Healer, glancing down at her arm, which would still remain in a sling for the next few days as the muscles re-attached themselves to bone and ligament.  _“I think you’ll do just fine.”_

 

_Just a_ little _discomfort?_ Harry thought now as Ginny squeezed his hand in a vice grip.  _Was he fucking kidding?_

 

“I can see the head,” the Healer was now saying from behind the sheet that covered Ginny’s legs and midsection.

 

“Oh, Mum, I can’t do this anymore,” Ginny whispered from beside him. Her red hair, slick with sweat, was hanging limply around her cheeks, and her entire face was red with exertion. “I can’t… I can’t…”

 

“You can, dear,” said Molly from her other side. “You’re almost there. Just a few more pushes, alright?”

 

“I can’t push anymore,” Ginny moaned. “I can’t… Mummy, it hurts…”

 

“It’s almost over,” said Harry, wishing that he could do something more to help, anything to stop Ginny from hurting. Instead, he wiped the sweat from her forehead with a rag that was already sopping. “Just a little more.”

 

“You’re doing wonderfully, love,” said the Healer from between Ginny’s legs. “Just a few more.”

 

“I can’t… Harry, I can’t…”

 

“You can,” Harry insisted, squeezing her hand tight. “I love you. You’re so strong. I know you are. Just a little more.”

 

“Just make it come out,” Ginny begged. “I’ll do anything. Someone… someone use a wand and make it come out…”

 

“A few more,” Harry said, trying to smile. “A few more pushes, then I’ll get my wand, okay?”

 

“A few more?”

 

“A few more,” said Harry. “I promise.”

 

Ginny squeezed her eyes tight and bore down, screaming out as she pushed.

 

“Is it out?” she pleaded after her push subsided.

 

“Not yet,” said the Healer. “It’s close, though. One more good push should do it.”

 

“I can’t do one more…”

 

“Yes, you can,” said her mother. “You have one more in you, you’re squeezing my hand so tight, put it down there instead.”

 

“You can do one more,” Harry agreed. “I know you can.”

 

“I can do one more,” Ginny panted.

 

“One more and you’re done,” said the Healer.

 

Ginny squeezed Harry’s hand again.

 

And gave it one more.

 

\---------

 

Professor Filius Flitwick’s bedroom, like every other professor's bedroom, was attached to the classroom in which he taught. He pulled himself out of his bed and took his wand that night for the same reason that he pulled himself out of his bed and took his wand every night. He was an old man. And old men have pissy bladders.

 

Pun completely intended.

 

“ _Lumos,_ ” he muttered in his squeaky voice, and the tip of his wand lit up. He worked his way across the bedroom, completely accepting of the fact that his short legs got him to his destination so much slower than if he were normal height. But just because he accepted it, didn’t have to mean that he liked it.

 

_One of these nights I’m not going to make it_ , he admitted.  _And I just_ know _it’s going to be a night where some student decides to wander the halls after hours and catches the old man with soggy knickers._

 

He supposed he could get a bedpan. But he hated those when he was growing up. They were convenient, but the smell was horrible, and he never really wanted to know where an _Evanesco_ might put his leavings.

 

He could always ask Tiberius about moving his classroom somewhere closer to a bathroom. The room they had been using for Firenze’s Divination class might be suitable.

 

_Or you could just follow Minerva’s lead_ , another part of his mind answered.  _And Bathsheba’s. You could pay attention to the glimmer in Horace’s eye whenever he talks about the years before he came back. Hell, Filius, you taught Pomona when she was a student here, for Merlin’s sake. And she’s moved on, same as the others._

 

_You’re not a young man. You knew it during the first war. You_ definitely _knew it during the second war, and especially during the final battle. And you’re seeing all of these young people, people who you remember from when they were eleven and waiting to be Sorted, coming in to teach the new generation._

 

_Maybe it’s time to step aside and let someone else enter the picture. Let someone new Charm them._

 

As he stepped into his classroom, he heard a soft _thump_ that nearly startled him the piss out of him ( _pun intended, once again_ , he thought). It was one he heard only fifteen or sixteen times during the course of a year, but if it didn’t happen in the daylight, then it happened when he was asleep. This was the first time that he was awake when it sounded at… almost midnight, said the clock on the wall over his desk.

 

The thump came from an otherwise unused closet next to the chalkboard. No one ever questioned when the noise came during a class. There were so many odd sounds, so many strange disturbances during the course of a day that something like that was barely noticed, even by him.

 

Curiosity got the better of Filius, however. Bladder temporarily forgotten, he walked over to the closet and opened the door.

 

There, on a small wooden pedestal, sat a book. One in a series that Filius had been charged with since he assumed the role of Deputy Headmaster in 1998, this one, titled _September 2014-August 2015_ , had replaced its predecessor just last month.  _September 2013-August 2014_ had been moved into the Hogwarts library until the time when it would be needed.

 

This latest chapter had opened to the page labeled _February 6th, 2015_. The magical quill, enchanted to respond whenever someone of magical ability was brought into the world, was poised to mark that child’s eleventh birthday.

 

Flitwick stepped closer and watched as the name was scribbled onto the page.

 

**_James Arthur Potter_ **

Hogwarts professors weren’t allowed to pick favorites. The pursuit of education demanded that all students be treated as equal, their accomplishments, and defeats no more or less significant than those of their peers.

 

Exceptions happened, of course. Teachers are ruled by their emotions as much as by their doctrine.

 

Therefore, while he had looked at this book many times in the six years he had been appointed Deputy, Flitwick allowed himself a smile and a nod as he read the name.

 

_After all,_ he thought.  _It’s not like I’ll be teaching him._

 

“Congratulations, children,” he said quietly, patting the page before the book closed again, to be opened when another wizard or witch came into being. “Congratulations.”

 


	19. Six Years Later: The Social Event of the Year

Six Years Later

The Social Event of the Year

 ---------

 

The processional hadn't even begun, and Lucius Malfoy had already conjured the whisky. 

 This was supposed to be the big day.  The day that the Malfoys returned to Society.  The world of influence, power, and respect  

Instead... 

"It's over," he muttered to the small room adjoining the chapel, empty but for himself and the bottle on the table next to him.  He took the alcohol in one hard shot and, as his wife entered the room, he reached for a refill.  

"Put that down," Narcissa snapped.  "You're going to embarrass us." 

Lucius snorted and took another sip.  "Embarrass us?  Whatever do you mean by that?  The Malfoys are dead.  A corpse can't blush."  

 "The Malfoys aren't dead," said Narcissa, dressed in dazzling green dress robes that would be driving Lucius close to sexual insanity if it weren't for the mood of the day.  "Our son is getting married to a pureblood.  Children will be sure to come.  The bloodline of Malfoy will continue." 

"Bloodlines.  Sure."  Narcissa's eyes narrowed as Lucius drained the glass again.  "As if blood means anything to these people.  Our blood will continue, but our name is dead."  

 Narcissa couldn't argue with that.  "It's not as bad as you make it sound," she said, her eyes not quite meeting his.  

"How many invitations did we send?" Lucius asked.  

 "Three hundred," Narcissa replied, which Lucius knew was a lie.  They had sent out six hundred.  That was part of the game in high wizard society.  You sent them to as many people as possible, to announce your status, the status of your only son.  The invitations went out to pureblood families of respectability all over the world, names that would probably not be able to attend, but would be welcomed if they arrived.  Three hundred were just the ones from whom you reasonably expected a response, who would have fallen all over themselves to be seen in the chapel or at the formal reception at the Manor afterwards. 

"And how many are out there?" Lucius continued  

"Fifteen or twenty," Narcissa sighed.  "Twenty-five at the most." 

"Does that include the families and wedding party?" Lucius sniffed.  

 Narcissa remained silent. 

"How about the priest?" Lucius said with deep sarcasm.  "The organist?"  

"The Montagues are here," said Narcissa.  "They're important.  And the Zabinis.

"The Montagues are here because Draco wanted them here," Lucius replied savagely.  "And the Zabinis were kissing our feet before..."  

'It's Draco's day," Narcissa replied.  "And they are all pure..." 

"What about the Ogdens?" Lucius continued.  "The Dawlishes?  The Hopkirks?" 

"No response from any of them," said Narcissa, knowing that the members of the Ministry, along with the new Headmaster of Hogwarts, would want to distance themselves from the Malfoys as much as possible. 

 "Parkinsons?  Crabbes?" 

"Vander Crabbe's in Azkaban, and his wife still thinks that Draco and Gregory should have died along with their son," Narcissa said quietly.  "As for the Parkinsons, Draco refused to allow me to send them an invitation, and you know that their daughter has turned our name into mud around that house." 

 Lucius growled, but listened.  He didn't pay very much attention to Draco's romantic life, but knew just enough to know that it must have taken a major falling out to tear Draco and Pansy apart.  What had happened?  He had thought this question over and over in the past six years.  The Parkinsons were one of the most powerful pureblood families in Europe.  If they had married into the Malfoys... his stomach dropped at the mere thought of "what might have been, but never will be." 

 Lucius hoped that it was Draco who made the decision, who decided that Pansy wasn't worthy of his attentions.  That somehow the Gibbons were a better path to glory.  The Gibbonses, whose patriarch was a lackey  , who had been killed by his own men.  Whose matriarch was now a widow in a family whose status was never high to begin with.  Sure, their daughter, Hedda, was attractive enough.  But Lucius knew that Ylwa would have never accepted the marriage if she wasn't in such dire straits to assure that Viggo Gibbon's only daughter was well taken care of.  Lucius could see the look of loathing in her eyes whenever he turned away from a conversation with her. 

It was the same look that the Parkinsons had given him and Narcissa at the funerals. And at the hearing. 

"So who _is_ here?" Lucius asked, wishing that he could conjure a bigger glass or just take a drink straight from the bottle without having to put up with Cissy's icy stare. 

"The Montagues, the Zabinis, the Bulstrodes..." 

"Oh, bloody hell, Bulstrode..." 

"Lara Goyle's here..." 

"Because her son's the best man," said Lucius.  "Anyone who _didn't_ have a son or daughter in Draco's class?" 

"Umbridge." 

Lucius stopped.  "Well, I suppose that's someone," he relented.  "Although she's not who she used to be, not in the _new Ministry_."  He said the last words as if he was eating warm dog vomit.  "Anyone else?"  

"Ylwa and her son.  Your mother.  Me, you, Draco, Hedda, Gregory, Hedda's bridesmaid, whatever her name is, and the priest." 

"That's all?" said Lucius.  "Well, I suppose it could be worse.  At least the _Prophet_ decided to ignore our invitation.  The last thing that I would want is to have this fiasco splattered across the Society page." 

Narcissa's already pale face faded even more.  She cleared her throat nervously.  Lucius eyed her with something close to horror. 

"They sent someone, didn't they?" 

"Rita Skeeter." 

"Oh, of course.  They're already laughing at our corpse, why not fuck it in the ass while they're at it?" Lucius took a long drink straight from the whisky bottle. 

"Lucius!" Narcissa yelled. 

"Pretense is for pussies," he said, handing the bottle to her.  "Have a drink, dear.  We're mourning our death." 

"We're not dead," said Narcissa, grabbing the bottle.  "But, please, Lucius, stop pretending that things can ever be the same." 

"You're not very fun," said Lucius, his speech slurring as she put the stopper in it and made it vanish into thin air. 

"Most of the wizarding world doesn’t trust us," said Narcissa, standing over him with her arms crossed.  "Including the Ministry, the governing body of Hogwarts, and every pureblood family that didn't follow Riddle." 

Lucius flinched instinctively.  Death Eaters never spoke in terms of _You-Know-Who_.  But any name other than _The Dark Lord_ always filled him with anxiety, even six years after the death. And using The Dark Lord’s given name… 

“And all of his former followers,” Narcissa continued unabated, “see us as selfish cowards for not fighting to the end. They see us as bootlickers and Muggle-lovers because Potter and the new Ministry kept us out of Azkaban. And because, unlike them, we don’t think the world is at an end because that halfblood conjurer is gone, killed by a seventeen-year-old boy.” 

"I’ll take the bottle back,” Lucius growled. “I’m having difficulty finding the silver lining to this little motivational speech.” 

“Excuse me, sir? Madam?” 

Narcissa and Lucius both turned to face the door, where a young man, who appeared to be an employee of the chapel, was standing. 

“There are two men who wish to speak with one of you.” 

“Who is it?” said Lucius. “Someone else to piss on our graves?” 

“Didn’t give a name,” the man said. 

“I’ll talk to whoever it is,” said Lucius, attempting to stand up from the plush couch, but falling back down quickly. Narcissa rolled her eyes and turned to the man. 

“I’ll speak to them,” said Narcissa. “In a moment.” 

“They’re outside,” said the man. “I’ll let them know you’re coming.” 

“And bring my husband a glass of pumpkin juice.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” The boy nodded and left, closing the door behind him. 

Narcissa turned toward Lucius. 

“The silver lining,” she hissed. “Is that history is written by the winners. But we were also erased from the list of the losers. We stood with both of them. And we stood with no one. Which is a difficult position to be in during any war. 

“But we know the truth.” Narcissa said this with a small smile. “We know that we put family above all else. When the time came to show what the Malfoys were all about, we took care of our own. We bowed to no one. We lied to The Dark Lord, to his face, to protect our blood. And our blood is still alive. It might not be what it was before, but we should be proud enough to know that it is still strong.” 

“The Dark Lord was defeated because the Malfoys were defeated,” Lucius countered. 

Narcissa snorted. “The Malfoys? Defeated? Because Draco had a wand taken from him in a childhood scuffle after disarming Riddle’s greatest enemy? Please. Riddle is _dead_. We’re _alive_. I think we know who the ultimate victor was.” 

Lucius Malfoy smiled. This time, as he stood he didn’t fall back down. “I was stupid,” he said. “How _dare_ they presume that we’re beneath them? My ancestors scrabbled their way up from nothing to be where we were before the Fall. We can get there again.” 

“That’s the man I married,” Narcissa said proudly. “Are we ready to take a daughter?” 

“More than,” Lucius replied with a sneer. 

“Excellent,” said Narcissa. “You drink the pumpkin juice and I’ll deal with the rabble outside.” 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to deal with them?” said Lucius, adjusting his dress robes. “I feel like giving someone a good reaming.” 

“Not at all,” said Narcissa. “They’re beneath you. Go see to our boy, the procession can start when I come back.” 

_Just so long as you don’t have whisky on your breath,_ she thought to herself as she closed the door. _And I’ll have an Imperius Curse ready in case you can’t stand up straight._

“Narcissa!” 

“Oh, hello, Boudicca!” Narcissa replied. 

“You must be so proud,” said Lucius Malfoy’s mother, Boudicca Malfoy. 

“Very much so,” said Narcissa as the old woman followed her toward the back of the church. “And you look stunning as always.” 

“Thank you, my dear,” Boudicca, who looked to Narcissa like a moth-eaten vulture carcass, packed into a five thousand Galleon dress robe, said. “It’s a Parisian original.” 

“Of course it is,” said Narcissa, who would rather be caught naked than caught in anything Parisian this season. “Now, if you will excuse me, there is some business I must attend to before the ceremony starts.” 

“Of course, dear, of course,” Boudicca replied, patting Narcissa’s arm before returning to her seat. 

Narcissa turned back to the door but, predictably, she heard the scratching quill before she took two steps. 

“Hello, Miss Skeeter,” said Narcissa, putting on her best proper voice. “How delightful of you to join us.” 

“Hello, Mrs. Malfoy,” said Rita, Quick Quotes Quill flying. “Congratulations on the happy event.” 

“Oh, well, we couldn’t be prouder,” said Narcissa. 

“Kind of a light turnout, isn’t it?” asked Rita. “How does that make you feel?” 

“It makes me feel as if we know who our real friends are,” said Narcissa, lying through her teeth. “Besides, this was intended to be a small gathering from the beginning. And almost everyone we invited is now in attendance.” 

“Hmm,” Rita said, looking around. “Not many friends, have we?” 

“We had many hangers on in the past few decades, but that’s changed now. We’ve cleared the rabble.” 

“And no Ministry officials? Business associates?” 

“Friends and family only, Miss Skeeter.” 

“What about Dolores Umbridge?” asked Rita. “Is she family? I’ve heard some nasty bits and pieces about her…” 

“She was Draco’s favorite teacher at Hogwarts,” said Narcissa. “Besides the late Severus Snape, of course. Draco insisted that she be here.” 

“So this is a gathering for just your closest?” 

“Of course,” said Narcissa with a smile. 

“And the invitation that was received at the _Prophet_? The one that stated that this was to be the social event of the year?” 

“Well, isn’t it?” said Narcissa. “The Malfoys have returned, and we’re telling the world what’s most important to us. It’s a social wake-up call that we’re not anyone’s playthings anymore, and that we will only give our influence to those we consider most dear.” 

“Charming,” Rita sniffed. 

“Now if you would like to discuss this further,” said Narcissa, “Lucius and I would be more than happy to sit down and speak to you at the reception. But the wedding is starting shortly, and there are a few things I must take care of first.” 

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be talking again, Mrs. Malfoy,” said Rita, but she relented and returned to the pews. 

_I might need that Imperius curse a little longer,_ Narcissa thought to herself as she turned back to the doors. _Just to make sure that Lucius doesn’t say anything stupid to that twat._

She opened the door and saw two young men standing at the bottom of the stairs in Muggle clothing, as though they were just passing by. 

“And why am I not surprised to see you here?” she said savagely, crossing her arms. “Come to rub this all in our faces? Maybe to come in with some sting operation?” 

“Not at all,” said Harry Potter. 

“And how did you find out about this ceremony?” she continued. “It’s invitation only.” 

“Your sister told us about it,” said Ron Weasley, who, unlike Potter, had a look of great distaste on his face, as though he’d rather be anywhere but here. “Showed us the invitation.” 

“My sister’s dead,” said Narcissa. “Your mother killed her, remember?” 

“Your _other_ sister,” Ron continued. “The one who’s still alive. You did send her the invitation, right?” 

“It was an announcement,” said Narcissa. “I never expected Andromeda would even acknowledge it.” 

“Well, she did,” Ron said. “But considering your buddies killed her husband and her daughter, I don’t think she was up to attending.” 

“Look, could you both please just calm down?” said Harry. “Mrs. Malfoy, I didn’t come to start a fight.” 

“Yet one’s been started anyway,” said Narcissa, on her guard for the first time since she stepped into the room with Lucius. “And where are the others? Why just you two to come and spit on us? Where’s your sister and your…" _Your Mudblood wife?_

“Your wife?” 

“We’re not spitting,” Harry insisted. 

“Ginny's taking care of their kid,” said Ron. “And Hermione has enough trouble looking at Andromeda without being reminded of the woman who tortured her in your house, I don’t think…” 

“Ron!” Harry said quickly. “Please, could you just…” 

Harry grabbed Ron’s collar and dragged him a few feet away. The two whispered to each other, and Narcissa was about a few seconds away from turning around and leaving them when Harry came back to her. The Weasley boy remained a good distance away, arms crossed beneath his red face. 

“I apologize for that,” said Potter. “He’s… well… look, we’re not here to pick a fight.” 

“Then why are you here?” 

“To give Draco his wedding present,” said Harry. 

“His… his what?” 

At that, he pulled out a single envelope and handed it to her. 

“A card?” Narcissa was so taken aback that she didn’t even reach for it. 

“It will explain everything to them,” said Harry. “I’d ask him to come out himself, but he wasn’t comfortable seeing me at our wedding. I don’t want to force him into anything now.” 

“You’d better explain it to me first,” said Narcissa, still wary. “In case this is some cursed card that will make his eyes melt or his hands fall off. And if this has anything to do with the two thousand Galleons that went missing from our vault the day before the _Prophet_ announced your wedding.” 

“It has everything to do with that,” said Harry. “Draco made two vaults, one for each of us. Gave us the keys on our wedding day.”

“And…?” 

"And we never touched them. Ron and I stopped by Gringotts on our way here and had the money transferred back into Draco’s vault.” 

“And why is that?” said Narcissa. “You’re too good for our money?” 

“Draco doesn’t have to buy our respect,” Harry explained. “He’s already earned it.” 

Narcissa was shocked into silence. She never expected to hear these words coming from _Potter_ … 

“Draco tried to save us,” said Harry. “He could have turned us in when we were brought to your mansion. He didn’t. He could have killed us in the Room of Requirement. He didn’t. He had Dumbledore cornered in the Tower. But he backed down. He never wanted to do the things he did. But he was put into extraordinary circumstances in order to protect his family. He kept his family in his heart, but he still kept his soul. And, in all honesty, I never would have thought he had either of those to begin with. But I was wrong. It took a lot for him to do what he did. And he’s earned our respect for that.” 

“Besides, we saved his arse,” Ron called from behind Harry. “Him and Goyle both. He’d better make the most of that second chance.” 

 "He saved us," said Harry, still holding out the envelope. "And we saved him.  We're even." 

Narcissa slowly reached out and took the envelope.  "I'll give it to him," she said. 

"Thank you," said Harry. 

"Well," Narcissa said slowly, debating if she should say more.  "Good day."  At that, she turned around, but Harry stopped her. 

"Mrs. Malfoy!" 

"What is it, Potter?" she said, trying her best to keep her air of superiority.  "There's a wedding that's waiting for me." 

"I just never had a chance to thank you for saving my life." 

Once again, this boy had a tendency to rock someone back on their heels. 

"Excuse me?" 

"That night in the forest," said Harry.  "Everyone thought that Voldemort had killed me.  But you lied to him to save me." 

"I lied to him to get back into the school." 

"You did it for your family," Harry continued.  "That might be selfish, but there are still worse reasons.  And you could have gotten to Draco whether I was alive or dead.  If you had told Voldemort that I was still alive, he would have found some other way to kill me.  But you told him that I was dead."  He cracked a small smile that, despite all of the years of hatred that she had carried for this boy and his family, struck Narcissa as a wonderful smile.  "What can I say, Mrs. Malfoy?  You saved the world that night." 

_No wonder this boy's so popular,_ Narcissa thought despite herself.  "Well...  you're welcome." 

"And congratulations," said Harry, holding out his hand.  "For your whole family on the wedding."  

Narcissa glared down at it, then took it. 

"Congratulations to you, as well," she said.  "To both of you." 

"Thanks," Ron said grumpily behind Harry. 

Harry and Narcissa broke their handshake, and turned away.  As Narcissa walked back, she heard Weasley mutter, "You know, you don't _have_ to be so nice to everyone.  She deserved a _little_ bit of shit." 

"No, she didn't," Harry said.  "They've had more than their share already." 

"Not so sure about that," said Ron.  "They still have more guests than they've earned." 

"Ron, could you just..." 

Narcissa took a glance towards the chapel, and then back to the two boys ( _Men_ , she corrected herself.  Draco's _a man now, and so are they_ ). 

_You did it for your family._

_We lied to The Dark Lord, to his face, to protect our blood. And our blood is still alive. It might not be what it was before, but we should be proud enough to know that it is still strong._

"Potter!" She heard herself yell.  "Weasley!" 

Harry and Ron both turned around. 

"Could you..." _I can't believe I'm saying this,_ "Could you tell Dromeda that...  if she ever wants a cup of tea sometime...  to send me an owl?" 

Harry Potter's eyebrows raised in surprise over his glasses.  He and Ron exchanged an awkward glance. 

"Well..." said Harry delicately.  "I don't know how welcome she'd be to that..." 

"I know," said Narcissa, struggling to explain herself.  "I guess...  I guess I just want to see my sister again.  Just tell her that.  Make it your repayment for me saving your life." 

Harry smiled again ( _Lucky girl he's got_ , Narcissa thought) and nodded.  "Yeah, sure," he said.  "Yeah, I think I can do that." 

"Good," Narcissa said, and returned to the chapel without another word.  The few guests that had arrived were now seated in the pews, and Lucius stood at the rear of the aisle with their only son, who was dressed in Twilfit and Tatting's finest dress robes. 

"There you are," said Draco, looking at his mother with trademark impatience.  "Are you ready?" 

"Absolutely, dear," said Narcissa, putting the Potter's card in the stack with the small stack of gifts. 

"Who was that outside?" asked Lucius.  Narcissa waved a disregarding hand. 

"Just a few halfbloods trying to curry some favor," she said airily.  "I took their card. Draco can do with it what he wants." 

"Gave them a good tearing into, I hope?" Lucius asked as the organist began to play. 

As Gregory Goyle walked Hedda Gibbon's bridesmaid up to the front of the chapel and Draco Malfoy stood in preparation, Lucius took Narcissa's arm.  She spared enough time to take one quick glance back at the front door. 

_I hope that boy's as good to his word as everyone says he is,_ she thought. 

"Yes," Narcissa said to her husband.  "I gave them some words to remember us by." 


	20. Six-and-a-Half Years Later: Outliving Your Usefulness

Six and a Half Years Later: 

Outliving Your Usefulness  


  


 

“Here is your pasta, sir.”

“Thanks, Kreacher,” said Dudley Dursley. “Harry, I’m still not used to the idea that you actually have _servants_.” 

“Not _servants_ ,” Harry corrected as Kreacher walked around the table, scooping steaming piles of noodles onto each of the five plates. “Not even **a** _servant_. It’s… it’s complicated.” 

“Something to remember,” said Ginny as she tried to put a bite of carrot into James’s mouth. “You don’t want to call Kreacher a _servant_ in front of Hermione. She goes ballistic.” 

“Kreacher is Master Harry’s servant,” said Kreacher, floating a pot of cooled macaroni noodles to beside James’s high chair, where he put a small scoop on the tray in front of him, “whether he likes to call Kreacher that or not.” 

“Well, thank you for making me even more confused,” said Dudley hopelessly. 

“You’ll get it eventually,” said Susan, patting Dudley on the arm as Kreacher began pouring the sauce over everyone’s pasta. She turned to Teddy, who was sitting between Harry and James. “So what did Andromeda teach you this week, Teddy?” 

“Do you have to ask him that?” said Dudley. “It’s a weekend. Let his brain cool down.” 

“Addition,” said Teddy between bites of spaghetti. 

“He’s starting to learn how to add numbers with zero on the end, right?” said Harry, and Teddy nodded. 

“No!” James blasted, squeezing his eyes shut as his mother tried feeding him. 

“Alright, eat your noodles, then,” Ginny sighed as James, his eyes and hair matching his mother’s, picked up some of the pasta. “We’ll try the carrots again later.” 

“Teddy,” said Dudley, “what’s twenty plus thirty?” 

When Teddy’s face scrunched in concentration, his face distorted more than one normally would. Harry watched as his nose shrunk and his eyebrows enlarged. 

_Does he even know he’s doing it?_ Harry thought, reminding himself yet again to ask Andromeda Tonks when a Metamorphmagus should start learning to gain some control over the total body shifts that Tonks had been able to do instantly. 

“I thought you said to let his brain cool down,” said Susan to Dudley with some amusement as Teddy’s hair turned orange, red, and then yellow. 

“Yeah, well…” said Dudley, and flinched he was smacked in the face with a piece of macaroni. 

“Sorry,” said Ginny as Kreacher hurried over to pick up the piece from the floor. “James likes to check the airspeed velocity of his food before he decides it’s worth eating.” 

“What are twenty and thirty?” Harry asked Teddy. “What are the two numbers in front of their zeroes?” 

“A two and a three,” said Teddy. 

“And what do they add up to?” 

“Five… fifty!” said Teddy, his hair turning pink. “It’s fifty!” 

“Good job!” Susan applauded as Dudley was wiping the last bit of macaroni from his cheek. 

“Did he chew on that before he threw it?” he grumbled, and Ginny just shrugged. 

“Yeah, he’s a smart one,” said Harry, ruffling Teddy’s hair. The boy wore a large grin on his face ( _possibly larger than a human could muster_ , Harry thought once again). “He’s got a good teacher, too.” 

“Andromeda must be good,” said Susan. “I heard Professor Ogden offered her the Potions position after Slughorn left.” 

“That’s what Neville says,” said Ginny. “I guess they went to school together. They were in different Houses, but they got along well enough.” 

“She didn’t make much of it when I asked her,” Harry shrugged. “I think she might be tempted down the line if another position opens up. But not until Teddy’s old enough.” 

“Have you decided on schooling for James yet?” asked Susan. “Homeschooling? Muggle primary school?” 

Ginny snorted. “We’re going to at least wait until he’s done pooping himself,” she said, and Teddy giggled. 

“What’s wrong with Muggle school?” said Dudley. “Me and Harry got through it okay, didn’t we?” 

Harry gave Dudley a cross look, but decided not to mention the living hell that his early years were with the constant harassment from Dudley and his gang. “It’ll depend on a lot of things,” he said instead. “How we’re doing, for one. How comfortable we’d be with teaching him. What kind of a social life he’s getting. We don’t want him to be isolated from children his age…” 

“But we also don’t want to send him to a Muggle school if he can’t hide the fact that he’s a wizard,” Ginny continued. “I was taught by my mum. So were all of my brothers. I have no problem with teaching James the basics at home.” 

“Bread, sir?” Kreacher asked Harry. 

“Thanks, Kreacher,” Harry replied. “You can just leave it on the table if you want. Have a seat, your spaghetti’s getting cold.” 

“It is fine, Master Harry,” said the house-elf. “Kreacher will sit after he is done serving the bread.” 

“Just so long as you’re sure,” said Harry, watching the elf’s basket hover a little more unsteadily than it normally would. _Well, we aren’t the only one getting older,_ he thought. _It’s been almost ten years since I’ve known Kreacher. Who knows_ how _old he is?_

“Okay, enough stalling with all this school talk,” said Ginny to Susan and Dudley. “There’s one reason we invited you over, and you know it.” 

“Just one reason?” said Dudley with a smirk. “Heavens, Mrs. Potter, you’re certainly making a man feel welcome.” 

“Shove it,” said Ginny with false rage as she pointed James’s carrot spoon at Dudley before turning back to Susan. “Show me.” 

“How many times have I shown you already tonight?” 

“I’ve lost track,” said Ginny, barely containing her grin. “But I want to see it again.” 

Susan Bones sighed dramatically, but smiled herself as she lifted her hand from her lap and showed Ginny the ring. 

“Oh, that’s nice,” Ginny said, leaning forward and taking Susan’s hand. 

“Real diamond?” Harry asked. 

“Of course it is,” Dudley said. “You know I wouldn’t… okay, I would _hope_ you’d know that I wouldn’t go cheap.” 

“If you say so…” 

“So how’d you do it?” asked Ginny. 

“I worked a lot of overtime with the LCN project at University College, that’s how,” said Dudley proudly. 

“No, the proposal,” Ginny said. “How’d you propose?” 

“Oh, right…” 

“Well, you already know it was the Hufflepuff party, right?” Susan asked. Harry and Ginny both nodded. Organized by Ernie and Hannah Macmillan, Susan had mentioned this miniature reunion of Hufflepuffs from her year when she turned down Harry’s invitation for New Year’s Eve at Grimmauld Place. As far as they had heard, it was a good turnout, with everyone attending but Zacharias Smith (“Ernie didn’t invite him,” Susan had admitted to Harry when she stopped by his desk on the day of the party. “They never really got on well”) and Megan Jones, who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. 

“Clock rolls around to midnight,” Susan continued. “Strikes twelve, all of the crackers and fireworks go off…” 

“Those were from George’s shop, right?” asked Dudley. “Good work. I liked the big firebird one.” 

“…And it was right there,” said Susan, squeezing Dudley’s hand. “He just held it up to me and proposed.” 

“Well, I wanted to do something fancy,” Dudley admitted. “Or magic or something. I asked Fletchley if there was any way to get the ring into one of the crackers. He said to do it this way, or else the ring’ll get lost in all of the mess. I didn’t believe him until I saw a life-sized stuffed horse fly out of one of those things.” 

 "You did just fine, love," Susan said, kissing Dudley on the cheek.  Ginny responded with a broad grin while Teddy stuck his tongue out in childish disgust. 

"So when's the wedding?" Ginny asked. 

"We're looking at--" 

_CRASH!_

"Kreacher!" 

Harry jumped from his chair at the noise. Kreacher, finished with his job passing the bread, had returned to the stove to prepare his own plate of food. Now he lay on the floor on his hands and knees, a broken plate and a dented aluminum pot sprinkled among a giant puddle of sauce.

“Kreacher, are you alright?” Harry asked as he ran toward the house-elf. The other four at the table had all stood up as well, and James, startled by the noise, began to cry.

“Kreacher is fine, Master Harry.”

Harry and Ginny both reached for their wands, but Kreacher stopped them.

“There is no need, Master.” Kreacher raised his finger and pointed at the mess. One of the pieces of plate jittered slightly, but nothing else happened. Kreacher sighed and lowered his head. Ginny and Harry exchanged a glance, then Harry pulled out his wand.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Ginny asked as she pulled James from his high chair and put him on her shoulder. Like the rest of the Potter family, she had never seen Kreacher unable to do the tasks that he required of himself. “Are you sick?”

“ _Scourgify_!” Harry said, and the mess disappeared.

“Kreacher is just tired,” said the elf, but the way that he glanced at his powerless fingers made Harry believe otherwise.

“That’s fine,” said Harry. “There’s no need to strain yourself. Do you want to go back to Hogwarts for the night?”

“No, Kreacher just needs to rest.”

“Okay, sure,” said Harry, looking around at the others at the table. “Um, do you want to lie down in Teddy’s room? His bed’s the closest. That’s okay with you, right, Teddy?”

Teddy, who had been treated with nothing but kindness from the house-elf since he first arrived at Grimmauld Place six years ago, nodded.

“That will suffice, Master Harry,” Kreacher said, slowly pulling himself to his feet with Harry’s assistance. “Could you do your humble servant one minor request, Master? Could you accompany Kreacher to Master Teddy’s room?”

“Of course,” said Harry. “I should probably make sure his toys are out of the way, anyway.”

Teddy’s hair turned bright green. “I’ll go, too,” he said, jumping out of his chair. 

As he ran out of the hall and up the stairs, Harry realized with amusement that the boy probably hadn’t been keeping his room quite as neatly as his godparents would like, and was making sure it was straightened up before he got there.

“Please go about your meal,” said Kreacher to Ginny, Susan, and Dudley, who were all still standing at attention. “Do not trouble yourself with poor Kreacher.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Harry said to Ginny, still bouncing a sniffling James on her arm. She nodded, and Harry and Kreacher left the dining room.

“Feel better, Kreacher!” Susan called out behind them as they ascended the stairs. 

As they arrived on the first landing, they heard ferocious movement behind Teddy’s door. A poster of _The Incredibles_ , a film that he had seen with the Grangers last month, hung in rigid, Muggle fashion from the oak, with a crayoned sign above reading:

**Teddys** **Room**

**DONT COME IN!!!!!**

 

As Harry and Kreacher stepped into the room, Harry was once again reminded of the similarities between Teddy’s bedroom and the room on the fourth landing that had once belonged to Harry’s godfather. Posters of David Beckham and Frank Lampard, his two favorite football players, bracketed a poster of Teddy’s godmother from when she was still playing for the Holyhead Harpies. Enchanted banners of the Harpies and Chudley Cannons hung beside carefully clipped pages from Muggle comic books like _Superman_ and _The Fantastic Four_. As Harry leaned against the doorframe, Teddy threw his toy Snitch into its cage, stuffed his plush Ridgeback (roaring with indignation) and his Power Rangers into his Pikachu toy box ( _whatever_ that _is_ , Harry thought as he studied the bright yellow mouse grinning from the front), and turned around.

“It’s clean,” said Teddy, panting from his exertion, but a big grin on his face, his hair now bright yellow.

“Close enough,” Harry said with a reluctant smile as Teddy covertly snatched his Game Boy, his Christmas gift from Caroline ( _with funds from Dan and Charlotte_ , Harry added), from his bed and pushed it into his back pocket.

“Are you okay, Kreacher?” Teddy asked.

“Kreacher will be fine, Master Teddy,” said Kreacher wearily as he climbed onto Teddy’s bed, which was draped in hand-me-down Cannons bed sheets from Ron. “He is just feeling… under the weather, as you would say.”

 “Are you going to give him biscuits and ginger ale?”

“Maybe,” said Harry. “Why don’t you go down and finish dinner, Teddy? I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” said Teddy. “I hope you feel better, Kreacher.”

“Thank you, Master Teddy,” said Kreacher quietly. As Teddy ran from the room, (Harry could hear his thumping footfalls as he ran down the stairs) Kreacher continued to look toward the door.

“The house of Black still lives on,” Kreacher sighed.

“His grandmother was disowned by them,” said Harry as Kreacher pushed himself up to Teddy’s pillow. “I don’t think they’d care to refer to a half-werewolf, half-metamorph as a _Black_.”

“Such as it is,” Kreacher admitted. “Kreacher has seen many generations of Blacks. He has remembered many more. In the end, the words don’t matter. Blood and family are what matters. It doesn’t matter if he is a Lupin, a Tonks, a Malfoy, or a Lestrange. The boy is still a Black.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond to that. Despite the fact that he had made amends with Narcissa, and hopefully with the rest of the Malfoy family, he still wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with Teddy mentioned in the same family as Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Lucius, as true as the statement may be.

“Does Master wish to have a new house-elf?”

“What?” Harry said, surprised at the question. “No! Kreacher, you do a fantastic job around here. There’s no one better.”

“Kreacher thanks Master for the compliment,” the house-elf replied. “But Kreacher has outlived his usefulness.”

“No, you haven’t…”

“Does Master wish to have a new house-elf?”

“Kreacher, I’m not getting rid of you,” Harry insisted. “So what if you dropped a plate? Everyone does it.”

Kreacher sighed. “Master does not understand the question. Kreacher forgets that he is Master’s first house-elf, that the Potters had none of their own for many generations.”

“You’re right,” said Harry, sitting down on the bed. “I’m still new to this. You’re going to have to tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”

“When a house-elf has outlived its usefulness,” Kreacher explained. “When it has grown too old and too weak to continue its services to its masters, it gives its masters a choice. If the master decides that the house-elf has done well, the house-elf can reproduce itself, creating a new house-elf, a young house-elf, which will carry all of the skills and memories of its ancestors.”

“So it doesn’t have to re-learn everything,” Harry mumbled. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Master is very intelligent,” Kreacher nodded. “If the master is not satisfied with the elf’s work, it simply fades away when its time is up.”

“So when a house-elf dies, it vanishes?”

“Correct,” said Kreacher. “That way it does not put a burden on its master to dispose of the body.”

“What about all of the heads?” asked Harry. “The ones up in the attic? Or what about…?”

“What about Dobby?” Kreacher concluded. “The Free Elf?”

“Yeah…”

“The house-elf could also choose to reproduce, but leave the body behind,” said Kreacher. “It is a rare choice, but it has happened. The Blacks were cruel enough to wish to mount the heads of its former elves, so they were happy to oblige.”

Harry was stunned. Kreacher almost never spoke badly of his former family, so saying the words _Black_ and _cruel_ in the same sentence was a rarity for him.

“As for Dobby,” Kreacher continued, “House-elves must prepare before reproducing. Must prepare themselves before fading away. Dobby was never given that choice, never given that time.”

Harry remained silent. His mind, which had done its best not to dwell on the losses, forced itself back to that night almost seven years ago. He remembered being Apparated by the house-elf from Malfoy Mansion to Shell Cottage. Remembered the knife in Dobby’s chest. Remembered digging…

“Does Master wish to have a new house-elf?” Kreacher repeated, pulling Harry back to the present.

“How much time do you have left?” Harry asked, hearing a catch in his voice that he wished wasn’t there.

“A week, perhaps,” the elf replied. “But Kreacher can reproduce sooner if Master wishes.”

Harry thought it over. “I should talk to Ginny,” he said. “See what she wants.”

“Mistress Ginevra is just as important to Kreacher as Master Harry,” said Kreacher. “He can await her decision.”

“What do _you_ want?” asked Harry. “I mean, I know I haven’t been the best master, or whatever. You know I don’t treat you like house-elves like to be treated…”

“House-elves are treated as their masters treat them,” Kreacher said. “No more, no less. But Kreacher would like to know if his Master believes that he has done well with his time. A choice to reproduce is affirmation of that belief.”

“Right…” Harry nodded, and thought some more. “Is there… is there anything that I can do? I mean, beyond a yes or no? Something to make the end… I don’t know, easier?”

Kreacher hesitated, closing his eyes in thought. “Kreacher believed that Master would ask him this question,” he said. “And Kreacher has thought it over, as he has felt his time coming for a few weeks now.”

“And…?”

“Kreacher wishes for clothes,” he said, tugging absently at his Hogwarts bath towel. “Kreacher wishes to die a free elf.”

The answer left Harry speechless, as it was one of the last things that he had expected the elf, who had spent much time in the past few years arguing that he wasn’t working enough, that Harry and Ginny were cleaning and cooking so often that he felt useless, to say.

“Kreacher has always wished to be free,” Kreacher said, as though reading Harry’s mind. “Wished to know what it was like. But he has been afraid. Being a servant is all that he has known. It is what has made him proud. But the years that he has spent with the Potters has felt like a breath of new air. It gave him more freedom than he knew. But…”

“But you want to know what it’s like,” said Harry. “Just at the end.”

Kreacher nodded.

“I can do that,” Harry agreed. “I will gladly give you your freedom.”

“Thank you, Master,” the elf replied, and Harry saw a rare smile twitch beneath his knobby nose.

“Is there anything else?” Harry asked. “Anything else we can do?”

Kreacher paused again. Harry could almost hear the wheels clicking in his head. “There is one other thing…”

\---------

Two hours later, the fireplace of number twelve, Grimmauld Place lit up in green flame. 

After the six had finished their dinner, Dudley Dursley and Susan Bones had taken their leave. James Potter had been put down for the night, and Teddy Lupin was asked to play quietly in one of the other rooms, as Kreacher was resting in his own bedroom, and Harry and Ginny needed to talk about some things alone.

So it was that the two Potters were the only ones at the kitchen table when Hermione Weasley stepped out of the fireplace, carefully tapping her ash-covered shoes on the throw rug in front of the hearth before removing them.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I had to do a little cleaning before I came.”

“It’s fine,” said Harry as he and Ginny stood up and hugged Hermione. “I’m glad you’re willing to give it up.”

Hermione shrugged. “It’s just a purse,” she said as she pulled the familiar beaded handbag from her pocket. “Besides, in the rare occasion that we’ll have to be running for our lives and living off the land again, I only need to spend two pounds at a charity shop. One Extension Charm later, and I’ll have a new one.”

“Well, if you put it that way…”

“The fun starts when Ron and I sort out the mess,” said Hermione. “I really haven’t touched it in the past few years, so most of what was in there is now piled in one of the spare bedrooms.”

“We can come help with that,” said Ginny. “I’m sure as much of that stuff is Harry’s as it is yours and Ron’s.”

“That would be a lot of help,” said Hermione. “There was a lot more junk in there than I had thought. Excess rubbish from our meals, things like that.”

“We’ll give you a day to make sure your personal items are out of there before we come,” said Ginny, and the wicked look on her face when she said it gave Harry pause.

Hermione seemed to see it, too, and she blushed. “Yeah, those,” she said. “I should… God, I should check…”

“What are we talking about?” asked Harry.

“Nothing!” Hermione said quickly.

“Hermione knew she’d get lonely on the lamb,” Ginny giggled. “So she packed a few special books and… um… private assistants.”

Hermione slapped Ginny on the shoulder as the three walked to the hallway. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone about those when you saw me pack them,” she hissed.

“No, I said I wouldn’t tell my _brother_ about them,” Ginny winked. “Harry’s open season.”

“Hermione, I’m fine,” said Harry as Hermione blushed harder. “I don’t want to know any _more_ than that, but I’m fine.”

“It’s not a big deal,” said Hermione quietly. “I was young, and…”

“And single, I get it,” said Harry. “Besides, it probably doesn’t hold a candle to what Ginny has stashed away.”

“Bastard,” Ginny snapped, playfully smacking Harry’s arm as he laughed out loud. From above, they heard a crying baby. “And you’re saved by the bell,” she said, pinching his arm as she started up the stairs. “James must be getting hungry.”

“Yeah, sure, run away from the mockery,” Harry teased. Ginny stuck her tongue out at him, and then jogged up the stairs, passing Kreacher, who was coming in the other direction.

“Wow,” said Hermione. “You look fantastic, Kreacher!”

“Thank you,” said Kreacher, adjusting his dress robes. “They do fit me well, Master Harry.”

“They’re Teddy’s old dress robes,” Harry explained to Hermione. “He wore them to our wedding, but they obviously don’t fit him anymore.”

“If Kreacher could receive any clothes,” the elf said proudly, “he is honored to receive those of Master Lupin’s.”

“And here’s the handbag you wanted,” said Hermione, handing him the beaded purse.

“This is greatly appreciated, Mrs. Weasley,” said Kreacher. “May I have permission to enter the attic, Master Harry?”

“Of course,” said Harry. “And you’re free now, you don’t have to call me _Master_.”

“And _Mrs. Weasley_ ’s my mother-in-law, you can call me _Hermione_.”

“I will try my best,” Kreacher nodded. He turned towards the steps, paused, and turned around again toward Hermione. “And I must give my congratulations, as well, Mrs… Hermione. On your new expectation.”

As Kreacher slowly ascended the staircase toward the top of the house, Hermione stared after him in disbelief.

“Bloody hell,” she breathed. “I keep forgetting how good house-elves are at magic…”

“…Says the girl who created S.P.E.W.,” said Harry, his eyebrow raised skeptically. “What was he talking about, anyway?”

“It hasn’t been a week… I haven’t even told Ron…”

“Hermione…?”

Hermione sighed, and looked at Harry uncertainly. “Harry, I’m pregnant.”

Harry’s mouth opened to respond, but nothing came out. He glanced back up the stairs, then looked back at her. “And Kreacher knew?”

“House-elves are good at that,” said Hermione anxiously. “They have to know if a human is sick or injured or whatever. It’s part of their… you know… it’s one of their powers… Harry…”

“Well, I mean, it’s not unexpected, is it?” Harry asked. “You knew about it, right?”

“As of Monday,” said Hermione. “It happened sometime last weekend, I didn’t have the time or the… you know… the energy to check before then. New Year’s was busy…”

“Well, just so long as it didn’t happen in that fifteen minutes you and Ron disappeared during the party,” Harry chuckled.

“I don’t know,” said Hermione, her hands twisting nervously. “It might have been…”

“Bloody hell, it was a joke!” Harry blurted out. “You two…?”

“Had sex in your pantry, sorry,” Hermione said sheepishly. “We were both a little drunk and it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“That’s what Seamus guessed,” Harry admitted. “But that’s what he _always_ guesses whenever two people disappear for more than five minutes. Makes me really want to _not_ know what goes on with him and Lavender behind closed doors.”

“It might not have been then,” Hermione said quickly. “It was a weekend. It might have been the other two or three or… ten…”

“ _Ten_?”

“…times on Saturday or Sunday.”

“Ron’s quite the gladiator.”

“His endurance is getting a lot better,” said Hermione. “And he’s rebounding faster than before we were married.”

“Rhetorical statement,” Harry sighed, wishing he could shut his brain off.

“Anyway,” Hermione continued. “I’m pregnant. And can you _promise_ me that you won’t tell anyone? I want to talk to Ron before it becomes public business.”

“Why haven’t you told him yet?”

“Work’s been busy,” said Hermione. “You know it as well as I do.”

“I know,” said Harry. “But still…”

“Look, it’s complicated,” Hermione said shortly.  “I’ve had a lot to think about. Things are going to have to change with this baby, and I have to figure out our options first.”

“Don’t you mean that _you and Ron_ have to figure them out?” asked Harry. “He’s as much a part of this as you are.”

“I know, I know,” said Hermione, pinching the bridge of her nose in impatience. “We’re both going to have to make some changes, I get that. Can we not talk about this now, though?”

“Fine,” said Harry, raising his hands. “Subject dropped.”

“Thank you,” said Hermione as Ginny walked down the stairs, Kreacher close behind.

“James had a full diaper,” said Ginny. “He needed a change, but he’s good now.”

“Hey, Ginny?” Harry said. “Ron and Hermione had sex in our pantry.”

“Huh. I knew the beans smelled funny.”

“The Weasleys did a good job with their mess,” said Kreacher. “Kreacher barely had to clean any fluids off of the floor the next day.”

“Well, we were on top of my sweatshirt the first time,” Hermione said.

“Okay, that’s far too much information,” said Harry.  "Wait... _the first time_?"

“Have Master and Mistress made their decision?”

“We have,” said Ginny, exchanging a glance with Harry, who nodded. “We want you to give your offspring to Hogwarts.”

“What?” Hermione gasped. “Harry…!”

Kreacher nodded. “That is a fair decision,” he said.

“Ginny and I were both raised to have to work for ourselves,” said Harry. “We wouldn’t be comfortable not raising our children, taking care of our house, by ourselves.”

“But Harry,” Hermione argued, “all you’re doing is putting another elf back into slavery…”

“An elf who will remember what it’s like to be free,” said Ginny. “But one who won’t be looked down upon by the other elves for being free. Hermione, if you want to make inroads, this is the best way to do it. You have someone who’s been there. Someone who can tell the others what it’s like, like Dobby was, but someone who they’ll actually listen to and respect as one of their own instead of as an outsider.”

“And if he wants to be completely free, he can come to me,” Harry said. “He’s still going to be mine, but he’ll be working at Hogwarts full-time. It will ultimately be my responsibility to free him if he wants it.”

“Allowing the elf the choice,” said Kreacher. “He will have experienced both sides, and can make his path from there. It is a unique proposition, Master Harry.”

“ _Harry_ ,” he corrected. “It’s just _Harry_.”

“The new house-elf will be installed at Hogwarts within the week,” said Kreacher. “After I have made my journey.”

“Where are you going?” asked Hermione. “And why did you need my handbag?”

“For Kreacher’s ancestors,” said Kreacher, holding the handbag up. “He wishes to give them a proper burial.”

“The heads?” Harry asked.

“They are all that remain,” Kreacher nodded. “But it should suffice to bury them near their masters. Then I will find visit the Free Elf. And sit by him. And disappear.”

“So that’s the plan?” asked Ginny. “Going to bury your ancestors with the rest of the Blacks?”

“And with Master Regulus, yes.”

“What?” Harry said. “Kreacher, you’re…”

“Kreacher will be returning to the cave,” Kreacher announced, “And he will be finding the remains of his Master. Kreacher has never wished for Master Regulus to stay with the Inferi forever.”

“That’s insane!” said Hermione. “Kreacher, you’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Kreacher will not be killed,” the elf said with a smirk. “Kreacher is far too powerful to be ended by simple undead. He escaped once, he will escape again. This time with his Master, as he should have from the beginning.”

“Well, you have to let me help you,” said Harry, with Hermione and Ginny nodding in agreement as Teddy came down the stairs.

“We can all come,” said Ginny. “You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“No,” Kreacher said, and his smile grew wistful. “It is nice to be able to say _no_ to my masters. No, you will not come with Kreacher. Even in his present condition, close to death, Kreacher is still more powerful than Master, Mistress, and Mrs. Weasley combined.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Harry said, chuckling despite himself. He held his hand out. “Kreacher, it’s been good knowing you.”

Kreacher looked down at Harry’s hand, at first unsure about how to respond. Then he slowly grasped it with his own wrinkled, gnarled hand. “It has been a pleasure serving you, Master Potter, Mistress Potter,” he added, nodding toward Ginny.

“Thanks for all of your help, Kreacher,” said Ginny. Hermione surprised Kreacher even further by getting down on her knees and giving him a hug. Harry was surprised even more when, unlike the day when Kreacher told them the story of the locket, the elf actually accepted it this time.

“Where are you going?” Teddy asked as Kreacher stepped back from Hermione.

“Kreacher is going away, Master Teddy,” said Kreacher, hobbling over to the boy.

“You’re coming back, though, right?”

Kreacher shook his head. “Kreacher is an old elf, Master Teddy,” he said. “It is time for him to move on.”

“I’m going to miss you,” said the boy, his hair now a dark blue. Tears were forming in his eyes.

“Kreacher will miss you, as well,” the elf said. “But Master Teddy will be able to meet Kreacher’s son once he enters Hogwarts.”

“You have a son?” Teddy gasped. “I didn’t know that!”

“Kreacher soon will. Remember to ask for Kreacher. It will not be the Kreacher standing before you now, but he will know you.”

“He’s Kreacher, Jr.?”

“Good name,” Harry smiled.

“It makes the world of house-elves easier if we pass our name along,” said Kreacher.

At last, the goodbyes were made, and Kreacher walked to the door.

“Take care of yourself,” Harry said one last time as Kreacher stepped out onto the front stoop.

“Thank you, Master,” he said. He gave one last look back at Teddy, and nodded. “The house of Black still lives,” he said quietly to himself, and closed his eyes.

And with a _pop_ as the surrounding air filled the vacuum, Kreacher the Free Elf disappeared from Grimmauld Place forever.


	21. Seven Years Later: Rose Edith

  
Author's notes: Thanks to buttfacemakani, cloen, and phoenixblaze. A joke string in this chapter was originated by BFM on [this LJ post](http://buttfacemakani.livejournal.com/242565.html) (with awesome art) and continued in the comment section by myself, cloen, and phoenix.  


* * *

Seven Years Later: 

Rose Edith

 

 

As Harry Potter’s feet made contact with the pavement, an unexpected gust of wind blew from the north and tore the pile of papers from his hands.

 

“Oh, fuck!” he muttered to himself as he stomped down on the closest sheet.

 

_I should have gotten a bloody paperclip,_ he thought as he watched the rest of the pages blow towards the lawns and houses yards away.  _Hermione’s going to kill me._

 

_Wait a minute…_

He pulled his wand from his coat. “ _Accio_ _documents_!”

 

The papers struggled against the wind. Some seemed to hang in mid-air, as if tied to his wand like a kite tied to a string. But in the end, they all pulled themselves toward him and back into a neat pile in his hand.

 

_Forgot I can do this stuff in a magic neighborhood,_ Harry thought, realizing that he was still far too used to sneaking around, playing the Muggle, on the streets of London.

 

Tutshill wasn’t London.

 

He glanced up and down the street, turning an orange hue in the approaching September sunset. He recognized Hermione’s car ( _Honda Civic_ , Harry thought.  _Nice and practical_ ) parked along the curb, as well as Dan and Charlotte Granger’s and a third that he didn’t recognize. Despite the Muggle technology, it was common to see automobiles in wizarding neighborhoods outside of London, as they were still the most practical way to get around without drawing undue attention.

 

_Dan and Charlotte seem to be doing well for themselves, too,_ thought Harry as he ran his hand along the hood of their new MINI Cooper.  _Even with having to pay for Caroline’s school._  As much as he loved his broomstick, the ten-year-old inside him who once flipped through Uncle Vernon’s issues of _Car & Driver_ in the toilet wished that he could have one of his own.

 

_Not going to happen anytime soon, anyway,_ he thought. He could easily buy a car and put an invisibility switch on it similar to the one that Mr. Weasley had on the Anglia. Unfortunately, that would only be useful until a bicyclist smashed headlong into the unseen car parked on the street.

 

_Something I’ll have to figure out later_ , he thought as he approached the front door.  _If at all. I don’t know how keen Ginny would be on the idea of a car, even as much as it would help us make James’s travels easier. He hates the Floo, hates the Knight Bus. We can’t fly him on broomsticks, and forget Apparition. And there are some days that we just can’t walk to the Underground._

 

_Stop trying to talk yourself into it,_ he chided himself as the door opened.

 

“’Bout time you got here,” said Ron Weasley with a tired smile.

 

“Work got busy,” Harry explained, giving his best friend a quick hug before entering the house.

 

“You got Hermione’s things, then?” asked Ron, eyeing the stack of papers warily.

 

“Yeah, I did,” said Harry. “Wilcox said it wasn’t a big deal, but…”

 

“Hermione’s Hermione, right,” said Ron, rolling his eyes as they walked into the drawing room. “Harry’s here,” he said to the small group gathered around the room on chairs and couches. Ginny and Molly sat in chairs across from Harry, with Arthur standing behind them. Hermione was on the couch to his right, with her family, the Grangers, on the opposite sofa. Rounding out the group were two of Hermione’s cousins, Gretchen and Elizabeth Wainwright, sitting in spare chairs dragged in from the kitchen. Both wore the same matching crystal pendants that were around the necks of the other three Muggles.

 

“Daddy!” came the call of a small voice, and Harry saw a small red head streaking toward him from between Ginny and Molly. He bent down and scooped James Arthur Potter up into his arms.

 

“Hey, you,” he said, kissing his son on the cheek.

 

“He was getting antsy,” explained Ginny. “Everyone was paying too much attention to the baby.”

 

“Well, I could see how someone could feel that way,” said Harry, bouncing James up and down. “What did I miss?”

 

“Not much,” said Ginny as Harry bent down to kiss her. 

 

Ron sat down on the couch beside Hermione. “We just got home about an hour ago,” he said. “Dan and Charlotte picked us up from the hospital in Bristol. Mum and Dad Apparated back. Everyone’s just been staring at her ever since.”

 

Harry turned to the other couch to see Charlotte Granger holding the bundle of pink blankets known as Rose Edith Weasley in her arms. Hermione’s sister, Caroline, was on her knees on the cushions, leaning over her mother with a huge grin on her face. Dan was on the far end, glancing over occasionally. He wasn’t wearing the awed expression that his family was, but he looked content nonetheless.

 

“Are you done holding her?” Molly asked Charlotte.

 

“Calm down, love,” said Arthur, chuckling. “We have four grandchildren. This is their first. Let them be grandparents for a bit.”

 

“Don’t remind me,” Dan joked, rolling his eyes. “I knew I was going to be a grandfather eventually. Doesn’t make it any easier when it actually hit me.”

 

“Is Teddy coming?” Caroline asked, pulling herself away from Rose just long enough to look at Harry.

 

“Teddy’s with Andromeda,” said Ginny, her tone sounding like she had already answered this question numerous times in the past hour. “He only visits us on some weekends when he’s being home schooled.”

 

“Okay,” Caroline replied, her voice full of disappointment.

 

“We’re here for Rose, anyway, dear,” said Charlotte. “She wants to say hi to her aunt.”

 

“I’m not her aunt,” said Caroline. “I’m only seven.”

 

“And what does age have to do with it?” asked Gretchen.

 

“Aunts are old,” Caroline explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Just like Aunt Helen. She’s old.”

 

Gretchen and Elizabeth exchanged glances, then broke out into laughter. “Yeah, I can listen to that argument,” said Elizabeth. “Mum _is_ pretty old.”

 

“Helen’s younger than I am,” said Dan. “So what does that make me?”

 

“I don’t know, _Grandpa_ ,” said Gretchen, and the sisters broke out into another spate of giggles.

 

“So I take it that’s your car outside?” Harry asked the sisters.

 

“We just got here a few minutes before you did,” said Gretchen. “Mum and Dad are going to be coming down from Manchester next weekend, but we were close enough to make a stop.”

 

“You’re living together now, right?”

 

“We have a flat in Bristol,” Elizabeth explained.

 

“They followed us back up here after we got out of the hospital,” said Hermione.

 

Harry turned to look at Hermione for the first time. “You’re looking better,” he said as he walked over to her.

 

“No, I’m not,” said Hermione incredulously.

 

“Well, you’re clothed, at least,” said Harry. “No more hospital gowns.”

 

And she did look better. Harry hadn’t been able to see Hermione very much after what had apparently been a very hard labor. Harry had been there with Ginny, knew how hard it could be. And he knew that Ginny was in better physical shape than Hermione was going in. Hermione certainly looked better, less exhausted, than she did after the Battle of Hogwarts, but not by much.

 

But she did have that glow about her. That helped. 

 

Hermione pushed her way down, giving him room to sit. He did so, putting James on his lap, who quickly climbed off and ran over to his mother. “I actually wanted to leave sooner,” she said, taking the papers that Harry had brought from the small table in front of the couch. “But they wanted to make sure Rose was alright first.”

 

“Well, you did get out sooner than others,” said Arthur. “Lucius told me that Hedda was going to be there at least another day or two after you left.”

 

“Wait, what?” asked Ron perking to attention. “Lucius? Lucius _Malfoy_?”

 

“Oh, I didn’t mention that?” said Arthur, “Hedda Malfoy was in labor at the same time that Hermione was. They live in Bath, so Bristol was the closest hospital for them as well.” He wore an expression that reminded Harry of Ron the day they had spoken to Narcissa. Harry had to remember that, no matter what sort of bridges he thought he had mended with the Malfoys, it would probably be harder for the Weasleys to forgive past transgressions.

 

Besides, all Harry knew was that Narcissa and Draco were on… well… neutral terms with him. He wasn’t sure how Lucius felt about the situation, or about Arthur and Molly’s feelings.

 

Apparently, things still weren’t smooth.

 

“Draco’s kid was born the same day as ours?” Ron stammered. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

 

“Well, you were already gone when we ran into him,” said Molly.

 

“Draco?” asked Elizabeth. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

 

“Besides, it’s not a conversation I want to remember,” Arthur continued flatly. “Lots of nose-raising and condescension from Malfoy. Just like always…”

 

“So Draco’s kid has the same birthday as Rose?” asked Ron.

 

“Sounds like it, yes,” said Arthur. “I didn’t look at the records, though.”

 

“Hermione?” asked Ron. “Can we put Rose back in for another day or two? Maybe give birth to her again?”

 

“You do and there’s going to be canaries,” Hermione threatened.

 

“I just hope she got here first,” Ron grumbled.

 

“We’ll have to read the _Prophet_ ,” said Ginny. “Check the announcements. Do you have the latest issue?”

 

“Sunday’s is in the kitchen,” said Ron. “I brought the stack in from our hospital stay and tossed them on the table.”

 

“What’s his… her… name?” Harry asked Arthur.

 

“Scorpius.”

 

The room fell silent.

 

“What?” Harry asked in disbelief.

 

“Scorpius,” Arthur repeated. “Scorpius Malfoy.”

 

“Oh, you’ve _got_ to be joking!” Ron laughed. “ _That’s_ the name they came up with?”

 

“Well, I suppose it makes sense,” said Hermione. “It’s an astronomy theme. Draco, Bellatrix, Andromeda…”

 

“But _Scorpius_?” Ron continued. “A billion stars in the sky, and that’s the best they could do?”

 

“It’s quite a name to try to grow into,” said Ginny, who was smirking herself. “Like Draco wanted to come up with the most intimidating name possible.”

 

“What’s his middle name?” laughed Harry. “ _Optimus Prime_?”

 

“No,” said Gretchen, “his middle name’s _Captain Malcolm Reynolds_. They’re saving _Optimus Prime_ for his sister.”

 

“ _Scorpius Captain Malcolm Reynolds Malfoy_ ,” Elizabeth repeated. “I think I could get in line for that.”

 

Harry had no idea who _Reynolds_ was, but he couldn’t help but continue laughing along with the Grangers and the Wainwrights.

 

“ _Scorpius_ ,” said Hermione. “He’ll either have to be a Bond villain or a professional wrestler. Anything less will be a great disappointment.”

 

Half of the room burst into another peal of laughter. Harry looked around at the Weasleys, who were staring at the proceedings blankly. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, snorting through his nose as he tried to contain himself. “Muggle humor. You wouldn’t get it.”

 

“I lost you at the Optihoozy,” said Ron, shrugging. “But I’m sure it was very funny.”

 

“Molly, you can stop giving me puppy-dog eyes,” said Charlotte, standing up to hand Rose to her other grandmother.

 

“Thank you, dear,” said Molly, taking the baby and cradling it in her arms. Ginny and Arthur automatically leaned over to look at her, but James saw that he suddenly wasn’t the center of his mother’s attention and walked back over to Harry, who lifted him up and set him back on his lap.

 

“Scorpius,” Ron muttered under his breath. “Hermione, next time we’re having our kid here at home.”

 

“Why would that make a difference?” asked Hermione. “If Hedda has another one, she’ll have another one. Wouldn’t matter if we’re in the same building or not.”

 

“Well, still…” Ron said. “Distance between, you know?”

 

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry,” said Arthur. “Unless Draco’s breaking from tradition, the Malfoys have always had only one heir. They prefer to stop once they get their prodigal son.”

 

“Awwww, no Optimus Prime Malfoy?” Gretchen said, and Elizabeth covered more giggles with her hand.

 

“Nope, still don’t get it,” said Ron, shaking his head.

 

 “If there is a next one,” said Hermione, “I’ll probably have him or her at home. I don’t know how you and Harry were able to pull it off, Ginny. It was hard enough getting to Bristol from a wizarding neighborhood, I don’t see how you two could do it from Grimmauld Place.”

 

“It wasn’t easy,” said Ginny. “We had to stand on the stoop until the ambulance showed up disguised as an ice cream truck. Once they got there, Harry threw his Invisibility Cloak over me in case anyone happened to drive by. Believe me, the whole idea of a midwife is sounding quite tempting for the next one.”

 

“Have you thought about moving?” asked Dan.

 

“What, from Grimmauld Place?” asked Harry. “Why would we? I mean, it was willed to me, we don’t have to pay a mortgage on it.”

 

“But it’s not a very good place to raise a child, is it?” asked Molly. “All of those stairs, all of those rooms…”

 

“And are you even able to get him outside?” asked Charlotte.

 

“Well, we get to the park occasionally, yes,” said Ginny, but she and Harry exchanged an awkward glance. 

 

“But you don’t have a lawn or a garden,” Charlotte continued. “And you have to sneak him out. And with all of the time that Teddy’s there, how often do you get him to the park?”

 

“Ummm…” Harry thought hard, trying to remember the last time that he had taken Teddy outside when he came to visit. Usually they sat inside, playing games or playing with his toys.

 

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about,” Ginny admitted, which caused Harry to raise his eyebrows.

 

“You have?” he asked.

 

“Well, of course I have,” said Ginny. “I’ve been thinking about it more since last month.”

 

_Last month,_ Harry thought, remembering the near miss they had when James ended up on the first landing. He had almost toppled down the stairs, but Ginny had caught him with a _Mobilocorpus_ before he even hit the first step.

 

“Haven’t you?” Ginny continued.

 

“I… I don’t know…” said Harry. “I guess I just haven’t thought about living anywhere else but there.”

 

“Honestly, it’s amazing that the Blacks were even able to live there as long as they did,” said Molly. “With all the children that have gone through there over the centuries.”

 

“Iron discipline,” said Arthur. “A child gets in trouble, the Blacks probably used punishments that are illegal in most countries nowadays. As for living in that Muggle neighborhood, I think it’s safe to assume that they didn’t give a…” he quickly glanced at James, Rose, and Caroline before continuing. “…They didn’t care who they Obliviated or modified. Anyone that saw them walking out of their house quickly forgot them. Probably forgot the rest of their day, as well. They were just Muggles, after all, and the Blacks had enough influence over the Ministry to do it without any recourse.”

 

“No wonder Sirius hated that place,” said Ron.

 

Harry and Ginny took another look at each other as Molly reluctantly handed Rose off to Arthur.

 

“Have you been thinking about it?” Harry repeated.

 

“Yes, I have,” said Ginny. “I’ve been thinking of bringing it up, but I know how you are with it being Sirius’s old place, and all…”

 

“I don’t know if we could afford a new house,” said Harry. “I mean, would anyone even be able to buy Grimmauld Place? We can’t exactly put it back in the Muggle registries.”

 

“Like you need to sell it,” said Hermione. “Harry, you’re making almost as much at the Ministry as I am. Between my salary and Ron’s we can afford this place easily. Your salary, plus your inheritance…”

 

“…And don’t forget the royalties I’m still getting from Harpies merchandise,” said Ginny. “And all the money I’ve stocked up from my last contract.”

 

“You could just leave Grimmauld Place as is,” Hermione continued. “Or just let it disappear. As long as the Muggles don’t know it’s there, it could sit for centuries unnoticed.”

 

“Okay, okay,” said Harry. “We’ll talk about it, alright?”

 

“Good,” said Ginny. “I’ll start looking around for decent wizarding neighborhoods.”

 

“I said _talk about it_ ,” Harry repeated. “Not, you know, doing it.”

 

“You know we’re going to, though,” said Ginny with a wink. “I have that power over you.”

 

“You and your cunning ways,” Harry chuckled, but really couldn’t find an argument against it.

 

“Speaking of jobs,” said Hermione, flipping through the papers. “I’m missing one or two pages in here.”

 

“Those are the pages that Wilcox gave me,” said Harry.

 

“Which is exactly why I’m not trusting Wilcox with them,” Hermione sighed. “Could you…?”

 

“Let me know which ones you need,” said Harry. “I’ll bring them over after work tomorrow.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“What are all of those, anyway?” asked Elizabeth.

 

“A few documents, a few treaties,” said Hermione. “Nothing I can get into detail about without getting smacked by about a dozen secrecy spells. But just a few things I wanted to proofread, making sure that things are straight before I go on maternity leave.”

 

“Maternity leave?” asked Molly. “You’re planning on going back to work?”

 

“Of course she is,” said Charlotte. “Why wouldn’t she?”

 

“Well, she’s a mother now,” said Molly. “Rose is her job.”

 

“I seriously doubt that a woman who finished school in the top of her class would be expected to suddenly become a stay-at-home mother,” said Charlotte. “It’s not the 1800’s, after all.”

 

“So, what, then?” asked Molly. “You expect her to abandon her daughter with some… what? Muggle day care service?”

 

“I could take care of her…” Ron interjected.

 

“Don’t be silly, Ronald,” Molly replied.

 

“It’s an option,” said Charlotte. “But after the child is old enough to attend primary school, of course she can go back to work.”

 

“Primary school?  _Primary school?_ ”

 

“Well, of course. That’s what I did. I went back to work part-time when Hermione was at school. And when she became old enough to take care of herself for a few hours, I returned full-time. I’m doing the same with Caroline now.”

 

“That’s absurd!” Molly said. “Rose should be home schooled, just like every other Weasley child.”

 

“You’re doing her a disservice by keeping her away from children her age.”

 

“No, you’re doing her a disservice by putting her into a Muggle school,” said Molly, her voice rising. “What happens when she starts to get Muggle friends? They’ll want to come visit. When she says that she can’t have visitors, teachers will start to get concerned. Then they’ll start to get suspicious. They’ll want to know what her parents do for a living, or how she’s being treated at home if she’s afraid of ever having anyone over. The authorities will get involved.”

 

“I think you’re over-exaggerating…”

 

“And what happens when she starts to develop her powers?” Molly continued. “What happens when she starts to develop her abilities? How will she feel when she gets put into detention because she lit a blackboard on fire, or petrified the neighborhood bully?”

 

“Oh, good,” said Hermione dryly. “My mother and my mother-in-law are fighting over us. This is _exactly_ what I wanted on our first day out of the hospital.”

 

Molly and Charlotte seemed to come to at the same time, and looked around the room. Every eye was looking at them. Caroline’s mouth was hanging open, staring at her normally low-key mother, while James was snuggled up against his father, as though trying to keep away from the argument.

 

“I’m sorry, dear,” said Molly. “It’s just…”

 

“I know what _it’s just_ ,” said Hermione. “I knew this was going to happen. Why do you think I haven’t talked to any of you about it? You don’t think I haven’t thought about this at all?”

 

“So you’re going to be going back, then?” asked Charlotte.

 

“I don’t know yet,” said Hermione shortly. “Every time I think I’ve made one decision, the other side starts to poke at me. But I have another year to figure it out, and the last thing I need is for either of you to start hounding me about making the wrong choice.”

 

“We’re not hounding,” Charlotte said. “We’re just concerned about you and Rose, is all.”

 

“I know you are,” said Hermione. “And I… I appreciate it. But only to a point.”

 

“Hermione…”

 

“Look,” Hermione sighed. “Rose is tired. And she needs to be fed.”

 

“She seems just fine…” said Arthur, cradling the little girl.

 

“Okay, then _I’m_ tired,” said Hermione, her patience waning. “And _I_ need to be fed.”

 

“We could order pizza,” said Gretchen. “Or Chinese. Make a party of it.”

 

“Don’t be silly,” said Molly, standing up. “There’s a perfectly good kitchen, I can throw something together…”

 

“Guys, the baby’s not going anywhere,” said Ron, his eyes meeting those of his wife. “But it’s been a really long past few days. And we all need some rest. If you’re concerned about us, then you’ll take a hint.”

 

The Weasleys, Grangers, Wainwrights, and Potters all exchanged glances.

 

“Sure, we can head out,” said Daniel, pulling himself to his feet first. “Caroline has to head back to school tomorrow, we got her out of classes for today.”

 

“We can come by tomorrow, if you’d like,” said Charlotte. “We closed down the office for the week, just in case you delivered late.”

 

“It’s fine,” said Hermione. “I think I just want a few days with my husband and my daughter.”

 

“If you’re sure…”

 

“I’m sure there are a few patients who are going to need emergency root canals,” said Hermione. “Don’t keep away from the office for my sake.”

 

“We’ll follow through with that order, too,” said Arthur, handing Rose to Ron. “Won’t we, Molly?”

 

“Maybe they would at least like me to come by later this week,” said Molly. “Fix them some breakfast?”

 

“If we want to take you up on that offer, we’ll send you an owl,” said Ron.

 

“Don’t worry, Herm, we won’t bother you anymore,” said Gretchen, giving her cousin a quick hug as the group made their way to the front door.

 

“No, see, you two I could stand to hear from more often,” said Hermione as Elizabeth followed behind her sister. “Just not for a few days.”

 

“Duly noted,” said Gretchen. “We’ll try to come by more often.”

 

As the families made their goodbyes and walked out the door, Harry turned to Hermione. “Susan sends her congratulations,” he said. “She told me to tell you to send her an owl whenever you’re ready to start getting non-family company. Same with Dean and the Macmillans.”

 

“I’ll let them know,” said Hermione.

 

“Neville sends his regrets,” Harry continued as the group walked to the fireplace. “He wanted to come by the hospital like he did for James, but it’s too early in the school year, Ogden’s not letting them take any time away from Hogwarts yet.”

 

 “God, she’s going to be the oldest in her year, isn’t she?” said Hermione, shaking her head.

 

“Just like her mother,” said Ginny.

 

“Might not be the oldest, anyway,” said Harry. “Depends on when Hedda popped out Scorpius.”

 

Ron snorted. “ _Scorpius_ ,” he repeated, shaking his head.

 

“And Luna also owled us,” said Ginny. “She’ll come by when she’s back from Belize in a few weeks.”

 

“Sounds good,” said Hermione, giving Harry and Ginny a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before giving a bigger one to James. Ron handed Rose off to Hermione and gave Ginny a hug, Harry a handshake, and James a rustle of his red mop of hair, and the Potters Flooed back home, leaving the Weasleys alone in their house for the first time in what felt like weeks.

 

“It’s going to be like this for a while, isn’t it?” Hermione asked wearily as they walked back into the drawing room.

 

“Probably,” said Ron. “And that was just the grandparents and the closest. Wait’ll we start getting the entire Weasley clan in here.”

 

“Oh, God, don’t even make me think about it,” she replied, sitting down on the couch with Rose cradled in her arms.

 

“Babies do that to people,” Ron shrugged. “We were the same way with James, Victoire, and Fabian,” referring to Percy and Penelope’s one-year-old. “And you can’t tell me that you didn’t want to visit Remus and Tonks after Teddy was born, even though we were on the run.”

 

“Stop making sense,” Hermione sighed. “Take her for a minute, would you? She’s getting hungry.”

 

“Do you want me to get one of her bottles?” Ron asked as he took the baby.

 

“No, I can do it myself,” said Hermione, pulling her shirt off. “Just hope I’m doing it the right way, it’s the first time without a nurse hanging over me.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” said Ron, handing Rose to her while trying to remind himself that, even though his wife was sitting topless across from him, it was in a purely non-sexual way. 

 

“Thanks,” she replied, putting Rose to her breast, where she eventually began to feed. 

 

“Do you want me to get you anything?” asked Ron, walking to the kitchen. “I was going to make a sandwich.”

 

“Do we have any more raspberry jam?”

 

“A little bit,” he called, causing Artemisia and Pigwidgeon to flutter in their cages.

 

“A sandwich sounds good,” said Hermione, as she glanced down on her breasts. “I’m going to need to buy some new bras. They keep getting bigger.”

 

“You don’t hear me complaining.”

 

“Pervert,” Hermione chuckled. She heard Ron laugh from the kitchen, and then the house sat in a comfortable silence, broken only by the hooting of the owls, the scraping of knife on bread, and the quiet sucking from Rose’s mouth. Hermione ran her hand over her daughter’s head, the first Weasley in decades to, at least so far, not be a redhead.

 

Hermione jumped slightly as the lights around the drawing room lit up. She looked up to see Ron standing at the door to the kitchen, his wand in one hand, a plate of sandwiches in the other.

 

“Did I startle you?” he asked. “It was getting dark, thought it was time to turn the lights on.”

 

“Sorry,” Hermione said with a small smile. “Just got lost in her, I guess.”

 

“Don’t worry,” said Ron as he set the sandwiches down on the coffee table and sat down beside her. “It’s happened to me plenty, too. Grab a sandwich, Rose looks done.”

 

“Thanks,” said Hermione as Ron offered her the plate.

 

“Want me to take her?” asked Ron. “Put your shirt back on?”

 

“I’m fine for now,” she said, leaning back and closing her eyes.

 

“You know I was serious about the offer,” Ron said. “You know, the one I made earlier. If you want to go back to work, I can take care of her. George has the shop running fine, he won’t suffer if I’m gone.”

 

“I know,” said Hermione.

 

“You trust me with her, right?”

 

“I do,” said Hermione. “More than anyone else. But can we not talk about it right now?”

 

Ron nodded. “No problem.”

 

“We have a year,” she said, putting her head on his shoulder. “And I’m not ready to leave her yet.”

 

Ron chuckled, putting his arm around her bare shoulders and looking down at Rose Edith Weasley, who was yawning with her tiny mouth. “I know how you feel,” he said. “Why do you think I offered in the first place?”

 


	22. Seven and and a Half Years Later: Home for the Holidays

 

Seven and a Half Years Later

Home for the Holidays

 

\---------

 

” _Homenum Revelio_.”

 

The tip of Neville Longbottom’s wand remained dark as he pointed it into the spare classroom. Just to be safe, however, he made one last quick rotation.

 

Still dark.

 

“Okay then,” he mumbled and, sticking his wand in the front pocket of his robe, put a small 'X' through the room’s location on the map he had attached to his clipboard. Double-checking to make sure this was the last room in this particular area, he turned around and headed back to the main hall.

 

“Did you find the ruffian, my good man?”

 

“No, Sir Cadogan,” said Professor Longbottom, “there were no ruffians down that hallway.”

 

Cadogan’s white mustache bristled beneath his helmet. “You should check again, boy,” he trumpeted. “There was some black-caped villain who went down that hall!”

 

“Are you sure it was this hall?” Neville sighed. “And not any of the other five hallways that you warned me about during the sweep?”

 

“How _dare_ you speak to me in such a manner?” the aged knight hollered as he followed Neville down the hall, leaping from painting to painting as he tried to pull his overly-large sword from its scabbard. “No one accuses to Sir Cadogan of trickery! I challenge you, you fiend, you dog, you… you…”

 

“Sir Cadogan!” came a voice from Neville’s right as he reached an intersection. He turned to see a middle-aged woman in a black star-spangled robe running toward him. “Sir Cadogan, we need your help!”

 

“Gasp!” Cadogan gasped, “a fair maiden in need?”

 

“Indeed!” said Aurora Sinistra, in obvious terror. “There is a suspicious-looking man in the dungeon! See to it that he is authorized to be there, and not some miscreant come to terrify the entire school!” Neville’s eyebrow raised as Sinistra theatrically touched her forehead with the back of her hand.

 

“A villain?” Cadogan howled. “Have at thee, cur!” At that, he ran into the next painting and the painting after that, until his clanking armor was only a distant echo.

 

“A miscreant in the dungeon?” asked Neville skeptically.

 

“Professor Alcahest,” said Professor Sinistra, dropping the damsel in distress act.

 

“What’s he doing?”

 

“Nothing,” replied Sinistra as she and Neville walked down the hall. “Just sitting in his office, sorting out potions, making sure nothing’s going to explode while he’s gone.”

 

“And you sent Cadogan after him?”

 

“Well, I had to do _something_ ,” said Sinistra.  “Cadogan loves to try to be helpful. He was bothering me for a good fifteen minutes before I sent him off.”

 

“Sent him to me, thanks,” said Neville flatly. “I think I’m his favorite target.”

 

“Everyone’s his favorite target. He sees all of the professors wandering the halls at once, he instantly assumes that there’s something suspicious going on.”

 

“Well, I think he likes me most of all,” said Neville. “I doubt he’s ever forgiven me for getting him in trouble in my third year.” 

 

“What?” asked Aurora. “From… oh, the password thing? With Sirius Black? I forgot that was you.”

 

“Yeah,” Neville said, his face turning pink. “Yeah, it was me.”

 

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Aurora. “Cadogan has the attention span of a pickled herring. I doubt he even remembers your name. And you’ve changed enough that you’re hardly recognizable from when I had you in my Astronomy classes.”

 

“Less baby fat, more scar tissue?” Neville asked, rubbing his cheek.

 

“I was leaning toward the former, but I suppose the latter’s got something to do with it.” Professor Sinistra lifted her own clipboard and studied it. “You’re done with this hall?”

 

“Yeah,” he said. “Two more left in this wing, and then we should be finished.” He lifted his wand and conjured a large drapery over the mouth of the hall he had just searched. “ _Duro_!” he said loudly, and the drape turned solid.

 

“We’d better hurry,” said Aurora, “or we’re going to miss the train.”

 

“You’re on second shift, too?”

 

“Yes,” she replied. “It’s you, me, Septima, Uriela, and Calamus leaving today. Rolanda, Jana, Albert, and Evelyn leave when we come back.”

 

“I didn’t get a very good look at the sign-up sheet,” Neville admitted. “I just made sure I got there before all the other Christmas spaces were filled.” He thought again about what he had heard. “Wait, Alcahest is here for another week? Why is he going through his potions already?”

 

“That’s Albert for you,” said Aurora. “Cut once, measure twice, just like a good Potions professor should be. Well, we’ll split it up,” she said, drawing lines on her map. “Hogwarts Express leaves in an hour, we should be able to get it done by then.”

 

“You know what?” said Neville, glancing around the hall. “I’ll take both of them. You go on ahead.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I’m only going to Hogsmeade,” said Neville. “You need to be on the train, I don’t.” 

 

Aurora looked at him uncertainly.

 

“Go!” Neville insisted. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“Thanks,” said Aurora with a smile that cracked through twenty years. “Happy Christmas, see you when you get back.”

 

“Happy Christmas!” Neville called back as Professor Sinistra hurried around the corner toward the Astronomy Tower. After she disappeared, Neville sighed, looked at his map, and walked down the hall toward the next side hall.

 

“Need some company?” came a voice from behind him, and Neville turned around.

 

_She looks like Meg White with glasses, doesn’t she?_ Neville had once heard a Muggle-born student whisper to another when Uriela Clavis walked by them. Neville had no idea who Meg White was, and had made a mental note to ask Harry or Hermione in case it was some Muggle celebrity.

 

Either way, she wasn’t your typical Hogwarts professor, and definitely not the sort you would see teaching Ancient Runes. Short, chin-length black hair streaked with purple, black horn-rimmed glasses that would come off as creepy and outdated on Madam Pince, yet somehow suited her well. Her attire, which alternated between Muggle jeans and shirts, like she was wearing now (Green with white Japanese lettering), and wizarding robes that she wore for feasts or other special school occasions, would make the average wizard guess she was Muggle-born herself.

 

Neville knew better.

 

But no matter what she wore, she did look nice.

 

_Wait, what? Stop thinking that!_

 

Why not? It’s true!

 

_Look, you’re taken! Stop looking!_

 

What’s the harm in looking?

 

_You’re inner monologuing. Men don’t inner monologue about a woman unless they’re interested._

And?

 

_And you’re not. You have a girlfriend. You have Luna. So stop thinking about Uri like that._

Alright, alright…

 

“Are you okay?” Uriela asked as she approached.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Neville, shaking his head. “Are the students gone already?”

 

“Most of them,” said Uriela as she and Neville continued down the hall. “There were a few stragglers, but Hagrid told Calamus and I that he and Filch could care the rest of them.”

 

“How many are staying behind?”

 

“About a dozen.”

 

“A dozen…” Neville thought aloud. “A dozen students in half of a school being watched by four professors.” 

 

“Eight,” Uriela corrected. “Filius and Tiberius are staying both weeks, and Hagrid’s not leaving his hut for more than a night or two. The Forbidden Forest is the only area that can’t be guarded with spells, so he gets to keep his eye open, especially with the grounds being free territory over holiday. Plus all of the ghosts, portraits, and statues will be keeping their eyes open for trouble-makers.”

 

“Didn’t they give Binns authority to dock points and give detentions, too?” Neville asked as they reached the next hallway.

 

“He’s always had the authority, but do you think he’ll even leave his office?”

 

“You have a point,” said Neville, pulling out his wand. “So who’s the eighth this week?  _Homenum Revelio_!”

 

Much to both Neville and Uriela’s surprise, the tip of Neville’s wand lit up.

 

“Well, look at that,” Neville said with a smirk. “We have ruffians after all.”

 

“Excuse me?” asked Uriela with an arched eyebrow.

 

“Never mind,” Neville chuckled. “Come on.” The two walked down the hall, stopping at each door to see if Neville’s wand burned any brighter.

 

“So you’re all packed?” Neville asked.

 

“As much as I need to be. You?”

 

“About the same. Herbology teaching means that you keep your nice clothes at home. I always thought Pomona was just unkempt. But it comes with the territory.”

 

“I’ve been meaning to offer a _Scourgify_ before you left,” said Uriela. “You still got muck all over you.”

 

“It likes to stick in the cracks and crevices, yeah,” said Neville. “Magic dirt, what are you going to do?”

 

“So do you have any plans?” she asked. “For your week off?”

 

“Not much,” he said. “Christmas with Gran. Visiting my parents. I’m getting together with the Potters and Weasleys at some point. I get to see Rose for the first time, and we’re looking to do some kind of party since I won’t be around for New Year’s.”

 

“Rose…” said Uriela. “That’s Ron and Hermione’s, right?”

 

“Yeah. Rose is a Weasley, James is a Potter.”

 

“I’m trying to keep them all straight,” said Uriela. “But they just keep coming, especially if you start add in Percy’s and Bill’s.”

 

“And get this,” said Neville. “Ginny’s pregnant again.”

 

“You’re joking!” said Uriela. “James is only, what, two? I’m surprised they’re starting another one already.”

 

“Actually, he’s two in February,” said Neville. “But, yeah, Harry just wrote me about it when we were figuring out our plans to get together. Ginny’s less than a month in. And he said that the baby might even be in the same year as Rose when they get to Hogwarts, since the Healers are giving a due date near the end of August.”

 

“Wow,” said Uriela. “He’s going to be the baby of the class, isn’t he?”

 

“He or she,” said Neville. “Right now I think they’re just calling it _lump_. But lump’ll probably be the youngest in its class unless it holds into September.”

 

“So according to Filius’s book,” said Uriela, “Ron and Hermione have the oldest student in the class of… ummm…”

 

“2017,” Neville finished. “She beat out Scorpius Malfoy by about two hours.”

 

“And Harry and Ginny will have the youngest.”

 

“Right now they’re the odds-on favorite.”

 

“That should make for some interesting family gatherings.”

 

Neville shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, really. Hermione was the oldest in our class. Harry and I were the youngest, about a day apart from each other. Didn’t affect us at all. It’s not like Rose is going to have a head start.”

 

“I suppose that makes sense,” said Uriela. “How about Luna? You seeing her?”

 

“Well, I was going to,” he said. “But she had to make a last-minute trip to India. She and Xeno are off hunting some Flail-Headed Fliggerhigg, and she won’t be back until after we start back up again.”

 

“Well that stinks.”

 

“Yeah, it does,” Neville sighed. “But there’s really nothing I can do about it, I guess. Part of the trials of dating a world traveler.”

 

“Yeah…” Uriela said quietly, and the two continued down the hall in silence.

 

“So what’s your schedule looking like?” Neville asked eventually. “Should I see what Percy and Penelope are doing? Maybe let them know you’re interested in getting together with them?”

 

“Well…”

 

“You _are_ interested, right?” Neville asked. “You keep asking me about them.”

 

“Actually,” Uriela said quietly. “I don’t think I’m leaving.”

 

“What?” Neville stopped in his tracks.

 

“I think I’m going to stay for holiday,” she replied. “For both weeks.”

 

“Why?”

 

Uriela shrugged. “Just not a big Christmas girl, I suppose. Besides, I prefer New Year’s parties, anyway.”

 

“Then why didn’t you sign up to leave for the second weekend instead of the first?”

 

“Okay, fine, I’m a bad liar,” Uriela sighed. “I just… it’s stupid.”

 

“It’s about your parents, isn’t it?”

 

“Or lack thereof,” she said, leaning against the wall.   “My aunt and uncle have never really gotten along with me. Kind of makes Christmas a chore; has been ever since they took me in when I was three. Almost like they see my mum and dad in me, and hate me for it.”

 

Uriela never spoke of her past very often with Neville. Or with anyone. What she told him was pieced together over the years. Uriela’s father was a high-ranking member of the Wizengamot during the first war.  The two had been vehement opponents of Voldemort, and had been murdered for their troubles. Uriela, an only child (although she hinted that her mother was expecting another at the time) was sent to live with her aunt and uncle, her last surviving relatives, who had never really gotten along with her parents in the first place.

 

After they were arrested for the torture of Neville’s parents, _Priori Incantatem_ revealed that Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange had also murdered Gabriel and Galvah Clavis. His rational mind told him that this connection between his family and Uriela’s was the reason why he continued to show interest in her, and not because of any romantic intent.

 

His irrational mind told him to shut the hell up.

 

“I know,” Uriela continued. “It’s stupid to think that way about my aunt and uncle.”

 

“No, not really,” said Neville with a small smile. “Sounds like a few other people I know.”

 

“Anyway, I think I’d be happier here,” she sighed. “Food’s better. It’ll be nice and quiet with only a few students running around. I won’t have to deal with unruly relatives that I’d have to deal with if I went… if I went to my aunt and uncle’s house.”

 

In all of the occasions that Uriela spoke about her relatives, Neville had never once heard her refer to the house she grew up in as _home_. 

 

Harry couldn’t remember his parents beyond vague dreams and Legilimency attacks. Neville could still see his parents whenever he wanted, but could not remember what they were like before they were… before. But Uriela had lost her parents to the Death Eaters late enough in her life where she still remembered who they had been, could still remember them in her life. 

 

Neville couldn’t decide if that would make things easier or harder than what he and Harry had gone through.

 

As Neville and Uriela approached the last room in the hall, the tip of his wand grew brighter.

 

“Bingo,” Neville muttered. “They’re in here.”

 

Whoever they were, they seemed to realize that they were cornered. Neville heard a rustling noise behind the door, along with two muffled voices. Five seconds later, the door was thrown open, and two students stood in front of them, one boy and one girl.

 

“Hello, Professor,” the boy said quickly. “Um, _Professors_.”

 

“Hello, Jennett. Vane,” said Neville, trying to put on his best authority voice. “You do remember that Professor Ogden stated at dinner last night that these halls were off-limits for the next two weeks?”

 

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” said Jacob Jennett. “You see, I um… I lost…”

 

“He lost his telescope,” Lucia Vane said quickly. “He lost his telescope down here, and I… I was helping him find it.”

 

Neville’s eyebrow shot up skeptically. He took a quick glance at Uriela, who was covering her smiling mouth with her hand.

 

“Your telescope,” Neville said. “Did you find it okay?”

 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I found it,” said Jennett.

 

“Invisible telescope, is it?”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re not holding anything.”

 

“Oh…”

 

“And the search for invisible telescopes involves getting Miss Vane’s lipstick all over your face?”

 

Jennett’s face turned even redder than it was when he first opened the door.  _Still not as dark as the lipstick, though_ , Neville thought.

 

“So do you want to tell me again what you were doing up here?” Neville continued.

 

“And if you’re afraid of heights?” Uriela added, completely unable to suppress her grin.

 

“What?” Jennett asked, staring dumbly at Uriela.

 

“Are you afraid of heights?”

 

“No?”

 

“Well, your zipper is.”

 

Jennett eyes shot down to his pants. His face looking like it was ready to melt off his skull.

 

“Look, Professors,” Lucia pleaded as Jacob zipped up his fly. “It’s Christmas holiday, and I’m not going to see him for two weeks. You know how it is, don’t you?”

 

Deciding that it would be nicer not to comment on the fact that Lucia Vane’s blouse was hastily and woefully misbuttoned, he instead flipped back the map on his clipboard and ran his quill down the list.

 

“Mister Jennett’s signed up to stay over the holiday,” he noted. “And you’re not?”

 

“That’s right, sir.”

 

“And you do realize that the Hogwarts Express leaves for King’s Cross in the next…” he pulled out his pocket watch, “forty-five minutes?”

 

“It doesn’t leave for over two hours!” Jennett gasped.

 

“Apparently your watch is _very_ slow,” said Neville.

 

“Bloody hell…”

 

“No wonder he keeps missing Runes class,” Uriela interjected.

 

“I would assume seventh-years like yourselves would know and obey the rules,” said Neville.

 

Lucia’s face had gone from beet red to completely pale. “Oh, no,” she moaned. “You’re not going to hold me for detention, are you?”

 

“It’s tempting,” said Neville. “But I don’t think I would want to keep your sister from hearing about any of your exploits. Five points from Gryffindor,” he pointed to Lucia. “And five points from Hufflepuff,” pointing at Jacob. “I would say fifteen, but I figure this lesson in abject humiliation is worth at least ten points, wouldn’t you, Professor Clavis?”

 

“You’re letting them off light,” said Uriela, turning back to the students. She pulled out her wand. “ _Scourgify_!” Smears of lipstick disappeared from the both students’ faces. “Happy Christmas.”

 

“You’d better hurry or you’ll miss the train,” said Neville. “If Filch or anyone else gives you any bother for running in the hall, tell them I gave you permission just this once.”

 

“Thank you, sir!” said Lucia, as she and Jacob ran off.

 

“God, you’re too easy,” Uriela chuckled, shaking her head.

 

“That’s what she said,” Neville replied, and Uriela laughed again as he pulled his wand back out. “ _Homenum Revelio_!”

 

He made a quick circle around the hall, but his wand remained dark.

 

“Well, that’s that,” he said, pocketing it again. “One more hall, and we should be done. And I’m not easy. It’s Christmas, I figured that’s their present.”

 

“They already got their present,” Uriela said. “Honestly, I almost lost it when she pulled out that _telescope_ line.”

 

“Yeah, I think she found his telescope just fine,” Neville laughed as he conjured the drape and cast the _Duro_ spell, closing off the hallway to students for the extent of the holiday.

 

“The less I think about the students having a better romantic life than me,” Uriela sighed, “the easier it is to go on working in this place.”

 

“It is one of the harder parts of working here, yeah,” said Neville as the two walked toward their final hallway.

 

“At least you have it easier than most of us,” said Uriela. “You have Luna waiting for you.”

 

“Waiting for me, yeah,” said Neville. “But the _waiting’s_ the hardest part. Knowing that there is someone out there for me, but I can barely see her. And there’s always that thought in my mind, every time she leaves, that asks ‘Is she going to come back alone?’”

 

“Do you regret it?”

 

“Me and Luna?”

 

“Yeah,” she replied. “Do you regret being with her? Making that choice?”

 

Neville paused. “No,” he said. “We love each other. We may not have the best of situations, may _never_ have the best of situations, but we’re fine with what we have.”

 

_And yet there was that hesitation before you answered the question._

Two glowing figures floated in Neville and Uriela’s direction.

 

“Happy Christmas, Professors!”

 

“Happy Christmas, Nick,” said Neville to the Gryffindor ghost as he tilted his nearly severed head as if he was doffing a hat. His companion, the Grey Lady, merely nodded in acknowledgement of the living pair as they passed.

 

“Off to check hallway five, are you?”

 

“Yeah, last one on my list,” said Neville. “You didn’t happen to see anyone when you passed, did you?”

 

“Well, I saw Miss Vane and Master Jennett pass by us in a dreadful hurry,” said Nick. “But they were going back to the main hall. Hallway five was quiet.”

 

“Well, I have to check it either way,” said Neville. “Thanks for the help, though, Nick.”

 

“Any time I can be of assistance, Professor Longbottom,” said Nearly Headless Nick as he and Helena Ravenclaw continued toward wherever Hogwarts ghosts went.

 

As they continued down the hall, Neville glanced over at Uriela, who hadn’t spoken during the entire conversation with the ghosts. Had, in fact, been staring at the floor.

 

“Are you alright?” Neville asked.

 

“What?” Uriela said quietly.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. Just lost in my thoughts, I guess.”

 

“Happens to the best of us,” said Neville. The two continued in silence for a few minutes, until Neville decided to speak out.

 

“Look, Uri, why don’t you stay with me for Christmas?”

 

Uriela stopped. “With you?”

 

“Sure, why not?” Neville said. “I have a spare bedroom in my flat. You can have Christmas dinner with me and Gran, come to the get-together at the Potters. We could see Percy and Penelope, you can say hi to Fabian.”

 

“I don’t know…”

 

“Oh, come on,” said Neville. “Who knows how long this holiday schedule’s going to last? For all we know Tiberius might decide it’s a horrible idea, and then we’ll never get out of here for Christmas again.”

 

“I don’t think it would be a good idea, Neville…”

 

“Why not?” said Neville, putting his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll hang out in Hogsmeade, maybe a day or two in London after we’re done at Grimmauld Place. We’ll make a week of it, it’ll be great!”

 

“I shouldn’t…” said Uriela. “I really shouldn’t…”

 

Neville heard a note of distress creeping into her voice. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

 

And Uriela Clavis was kissing him.

 

And, much to the surprise of Neville Longbottom’s rational mind, he was kissing her back.

 

_Stop it,_ he thought.  _Stop it, you’re not with her, you’re with Luna._

 

I don’t care, he responded as she wrapped her arms around him. Uri’s here. Luna’s not. I love them both. Shouldn’t that mean something?

 

_Neville, you idiot, stop…_

“Students, if you could please… oh!”

 

Neville and Uriela broke from their kiss and turned to see Professor Flitwick standing ten feet away. Neville could see that he was fully prepared to rebuke two students for snogging in the hallway, but this was as much a surprise to him as it was to Neville.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, obviously flustered. “Terribly sorry.” He turned and waddled away.

 

Uriela and Neville looked at each other, the shock of the moment still on their faces.

 

“I’m sorry,” Uriela whispered. “I’m sorry, that was stupid…”

 

“Uri…”

 

“Now you see why I can’t?” she cried. “God, I keep thinking about you, and I know you’re with Luna, and I keep asking myself ‘Why is he still with her? He and I are so good together and, God, I’m right here!’ And I don’t know if I could be alone with you for a week without doing something even dumber than what I’ve already done.”

 

“Uri, please calm down…”

 

Uriela was almost shaking, tears pouring down her cheeks. “God, I’ve ruined everything. I should go before you decide you never want to talk to me again…”

 

“You haven’t ruined anything,” Neville said calmly. “Please calm down. Sit down.”

 

He took her by the arm and guided her to a nearby marble bench. She sat down, and he sat beside her. He knew he should say something, but he didn’t know where to begin. He felt like Uriela looked. His emotions were just too messed up…

 

“Do you love her?” Uriela asked.

 

“I do,” Neville said quietly.

 

“Then that’s all I need to know.”

 

“No, it’s not,” said Neville searching for the right words. “It’s… it’s complicated.”

 

“It’s not complicated,” she replied. “You love Luna. You don’t love me. I have a hopeless crush, and I have to get over it.”

 

“It’s not hopeless,” Neville said before he realized what he was saying. “I love her. But I… I won’t lie to you. I care about you. A lot. I’ve thought about us. About you and I.”

 

“You have?”

 

Neville nodded.

 

“But you’re still with Luna.”

 

“I am.”

 

_Because you’re afraid to end it,_ he thought.  _Afraid to hurt Luna._

 

Stop it.

 

_But you can’t live in a relationship like this.  So you’re still with her until she finds someone else. Because then you know she won’t be hurt. Because you can’t do it yourself. You’re too easy._

 

“Then that’s good,” Uriela said, sniffing. “You should be with who you love. Even if you’re not… you know…  _with her_ with her.”

 

“Yeah,” Neville said, trying his best to mask the doubt in his voice.

 

“Just…” Neville felt her hand close around his as she spoke. “Just know that I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. If… you decide you…”

 

“I’ll keep you in mind.”

 

“And you’re not mad at me?”

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

“Still friends?”

 

Neville gave her a small smile. “The offer to stay at my place for the week still stands.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“What, do you think I’m going to let you mope around the castle for a week?” He put his arm around her. “If it helps, the guest bedroom locks from the outside.”

 

Uriela snorted reluctant laughter, and put her head on his shoulder. “You’re too easy, you know that?”

 

“Yeah,” Neville said with a sigh. “Yeah, I am.”

 

_But that doesn’t mean that my life’s not getting any harder._

 


	23. Eight Years Later: Your Last Chance

  
Author's notes:

I don’t want this chapter to be a metaphor. I don’t want it to be any sort of stance on the religious right’s attitudes towards our favorite series. So please don’t take it that way, since the groups that I’m describing are extremists, not mainstream. I’m not trying to make a point, just advancing a story.

* * *

Eight Years Later:

Your Last Chance

 

\---------

 

_What are you doing here?_ Dudley thought to himself, not for the first time. He glanced down at his wristwatch, whose face glowed back at him. It was enchanted, as any battery-powered watch quickly fried whenever Dudley brought it home.

 

Ten PM.

 

 “This is stupid,” he muttered to himself as he looked around the darkened grounds of St Martha-on-the-Hill Church. “I should have never come.”

 

He had received the letter earlier in the week, sent via owl after being received by the Ministry of Magic’s Department of the Post, which was charged with re-routing all post between wizards and Muggles.

 

After reading the letter, he had spent all week debating, both to himself and to Susan, whether to even respond to this request. Even as he stepped out of the door of their flat in Diagon Alley, he hesitated.

 

_But he still means something to you,_ the voice inside him responded.  _It might not be much anymore, but it’s still something._

 

So after the wedding party finished their dinner tonight (which was quite a party considering that Albus, Harry and Ginny’s newest, was only a few weeks old, and Ernie and Hannah’s daughter, Kayla, wasn’t much older), Dudley left for Surrey.

 

And here he stood, debating turning around and going back.

 

Before he could take a step, the pocket of his jeans vibrated. After he moved in with Susan, he had had to give up most of his Muggle technology. His mobile phone, however, was a necessity, as it was the only way he could stay connected to the Muggle world, particularly to his employers. Arthur had done a marvelous job in acclimating the phone to resist magical interference, and even gave it a longer battery life.

 

Despite his mother’s misgivings, Dudley did give his father his number. He knew that an emergency could happen. His father wasn’t getting any younger, after all.

 

Dudley flipped open his phone. “Yeah?”

 

_“Look to your left,”_ a hoarse voice whispered came through the speaker.

 

Dudley did as he was asked, and found nothing but the wall of the church.

 

” _No, damn,”_ the voice said. “ _Your_ right _. I’m backwards_.”

 

Dudley turned to look over his right shoulder, and saw a dark mound in the shadow of the trees.

 

“Come over here,” the voice whispered. “Under cover.” As it did, the mound raised a hand and motioned Dudley towards it. Dudley closed his mobile, put it back in his pocket, and walked toward the trees.

 

“Hello, son,” said Vernon Dursley quietly as Dudley approached.

 

“Hi, Dad,” Dudley replied with some trepidation.

 

“It’s good to see you again,” said Vernon. “You’re looking… well, you’re looking fit to fight.”

 

“Thanks,” said Dudley. “You’re looking good, too.”

 

Dudley was, of course, lying through his teeth. Vernon Dursley was looking far from good. Never the smallest man to begin with, Dudley’s father looked like he had put on at least a fifty more kilos since he and Petunia had divorced almost five years ago. He still seemed to be dressed well, in a tailored suit and tie ( _just like he’s always worn_ , thought Dudley) but the smell of sweat and stale tobacco wafted off him. At his side, he held a large briefcase. 

 

“Well, thank you, son,” said Vernon, obviously unaware of Dudley’s concern. His jowls wobbled as he smiled and patted his considerable gut. “Living like a bachelor should. Living like a man. Eat what I want, drink what I want, smoke what I want. No woman looking down her nose at my behavior, it’s a beautiful life.”

 

“That’s… that’s great…”

 

“Have a good drive?”

 

“I took the Floo,” Dudley replied. “There’s a public station about a half mile from here.”

 

“Oh,” Vernon said, his voice darkening. “Still boxing, are you? Taking the big boys down at the gym?”

 

“What are you doing here, Dad?” Dudley said shortly. “Make it fast, I have a lot to do tomorrow.”

 

“Of course you do, of course you do,” Vernon said. “You’re getting married tomorrow. That’s why I’m here.”

 

“How did you know?” Dudley asked. He knew for a fact that no one had sent Vernon an invitation. 

 

Vernon pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, and handed it to Dudley.  It held a photograph of Dudley and Susan that Petunia had taken last Christmas, and below it:

 

_GOOD LUCK, Dudley Dursley & Susan Bones On Your Wedding 23rd September 2006.  Love From Mum xxxx_

“I suppose my invitation was lost in the mail,” Vernon said as Dudley shook his head in frustration, “so it was a good thing I read _The Advertiser’s_ website every day.  Have to keep up with the enemy, you know?” __

 

“Alright, fine, you’re here,” said Dudley. “So why did you make me come out to Surrey? And why are we hiding?”

 

“Because they’re everywhere,” Vernon said. “They’re watching us…”

 

“Oh, for God’s sake…”

 

“You still kept your name,” Vernon said, and Dudley could see that his father was growing more and more nervous. Twitchier. “That’s good. That means there’s still hope for you. They haven’t completely gotten you yet, even with that crystal around your neck.”

 

“Dad, would you stop it?” Dudley said, his patience quickly thinning. “Now quit with your crap and tell me what the hell you’re doing here.”

 

“Talking back to your elders,” Vernon muttered. “They gave you one, didn’t they? A little trinket to make you feel like you’re one of them?”

 

“Don’t start…”

 

“I’m here to get you out of here,” Vernon said in a loud whisper. “Here to try to talk you out of this madness before I lose you forever.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Dudley said patiently.

 

“This… this Bones girl,” said Vernon. “The one you’re marrying tomorrow. She’s one of _them_ , isn’t she?”

 

“She’s the girl I met at Harry’s wedding. And if by _them_ you mean what I think you mean, then yes, she’s one of _them_. She’s a witch, and a damn good one at that.”

 

“The Boy’s wedding,” Vernon grumbled. “It always comes back to The Boy.”

 

“Oh, will you give it a fucking rest already?”

 

“And I suppose he’s involved in this fiasco somehow?”

 

“He’s my Best Man, if you care…”

 

“Of course he is,” Vernon said. “He has to be there. He lived in our home for fifteen years, twisting our minds. He has to be there to finish the job. But I know better. I can put a stop to it.  _We_ can put a stop to it.”

 

“Oh, God,” Dudley groaned, suddenly wishing that he were back at the flat with Susan. Or at the dentist. Anywhere but here, hiding in the shadow of a church with his delusional father.

 

“Come with me,” said Vernon. “Come back to America with me, Dudley. You can live at my place as long as you want. And there’s work, too. I’m vice-president of the company now, and I could easily fire someone and give you a fantastic job with…”

 

“I’m not leaving, Dad!”

 

“You have to, Dudley!” Vernon pleaded. “Son, you’re making the biggest mistake you could ever make! You’re falling for their tricks, their ploys. Do you realize that, if you marry this… this Bones, that you’ll be a part of their freak show forever? That any child that you have with her will be tainted?”

 

“ _Tainted_?”

 

“Of course, tainted,” Vernon said, his eyes bugging out of his fat face. “You’re still a Dursley, son. The last Dursley there is. You can’t turn us into… into _them_!”

 

“You’ve had your say,” Dudley said, his face etched in marble as he stared at his father. “You’ve had your say, and you’ve shown me that you… blimey, that you just don’t get it.”

 

His father stared back at him, his eyes narrowing. “So you’re not going to listen to me? Not going to listen to reason?”

 

“What _reason_?” Dudley yelled. “Dad, you’re not talking reason. You’re just fucking insane!”

 

“I’m not insane,” said Vernon, who looked larger, yet smaller, than Dudley had ever known him. “But if you’re not going to listen to me, then you’re driving me to do what I have to do.” He reached into his pocket.

 

_Oh, my God,_ Dudley’s mind screamed as Vernon Dursley pulled something out of his coat.  _He has a gun!_

 

Dudley felt a surge of pain roll through his body as he collapsed to the ground. But there was no gunshot, just a sizzling sound as he closed his eyes in agony.

 

“Tazer gun,” Vernon said as he set the briefcase on a nearby stump. “Military grade. Lovely things. Amazing what you can find on the Internet nowadays.”

 

Dudley tried to speak, but his breath had still left him.

 

“Your mother and I were married in this church,” said Vernon as he rummaged through the contents of the case. “Your abnormal aunt tried to give me one of those crystals that day. Like you have around your neck. I refused, of course. I wanted as little to do with their kind as possible, and I knew that it would be some kind of acceptance of their way of life.”

 

 He bent down beside his son, and Dudley felt a slight tug as Vernon pulled the crystal from his neck, breaking the chain as it was removed. Dudley felt a slight tingle in his chest, and he realized that it was the magic of the marble-sized gem leaving him.

 

“For a long time I thought it was nothing,” said Vernon. “Some sort of union of tricksters and hypnotists. There might have been something genetic, like they were the offspring of some sort of government experiments. Maybe something the Nazis cooked up. Or the Romanovs. How the hell would I know?

 

“But I’ve been doing some reading,” he said as he set the crystal on the stump. “Been speaking to some very interesting, intelligent people since you and your mother left me. And I realized something. They’re not tricksters. They’re not freaks, or hucksters.

 

“They’re demons.”

 

The matter-of-fact tone that Vernon used when he said this sent a chill through Dudley. The man who once called the evangelist on the television in Milwaukee, the one who claimed to heal men and women who came to him on crutches, a con artist. The man who never accepted anything that wasn’t within his frame of reference, who thought that anything outside of his own sphere of reality was…

 

“They’re demons,” Vernon repeated calmly. “Spawns of Satan. They’ve been on this Earth for centuries, keeping themselves hidden from the world. The entire Evans cult is in league with them.  So were the Potters.  Always controlling from behind the scenes. Ensconced so far into our governments that even our own politicians don’t know that they’re being manipulated. Just waiting for the right moment. The End Times…”

 

Dudley tried to pull himself to his feet, but Vernon squeezed the trigger of the taser. Dudley felt another current roll through him and he crumpled to his knees.

 

“Please don’t try to get up, son,” said Vernon, pulling a bottle from his suitcase. “You’ll thank me for this later, I promise you.”

 

“Dad…” Dudley gasped, “Don’t do this…”

 

“There are two types of demons. There are the evil ones, the ones who are preparing to take power. And there are the ones who are pretending to be even worse. Demons like that Voldemort, or like the so-called Death Eaters who attacked us in America and at Heathrow. They exist so that the others can battle them, can play the heroes. Make us gain their trust, so it will be even easier to convince us to follow them when they eventually reveal themselves. 

 

“He’s convinced you, you see. The Boy. He’s convinced you and your mother that he is good and pure. Just like the Antichrist.”

 

Vernon held the crystal in front of his eyes. 

 

“I am so grateful that I never accepted this when it was offered to me,” said Vernon. “It’s the Mark of the Beast, Dudley. You wear it, this trinket, and you become their slave even while believing that you’re more powerful than ever before.”

 

He uncorked the bottle and set the crystal on the ground.

 

“Now be quiet, boy,” he said, pulling a sheet of printer paper from his pocket.  “A little holy water, and this crystal will be out of your life forever. Then we can get around to cleaning you.”

 

Vernon put the crystal in the palm of his hand and pulled the cork from the bottle. He poured it all out onto the charm, even shaking the bottle to make sure that the last drips landed. Vernon dropped the crystal to the dirt, turned back to the suitcase, and pulled out a second bottle.

 

“You have demon blood in you, Dudley,” said Vernon. “It might not be much, but it’s there. It came from your mother, who received it from her parents. It makes you a prime target. Makes it easier for them to turn you. If you marry them tomorrow, you’ll be one of them forever. But I can protect you. I can clean the blood in you, clean your mind, and make you one of us again.”

 

Before Dudley could speak, he felt the cool splash of water on his face. He shut his eyes tight as it dribbled down his cheeks.

 

“Begone, demon,” said Vernon in a dramatic voice. “Spoil my son no more.”

 

Dudley kept his eyes closed. Never in his worst nightmares did he think that he would be in this position, with his father standing over him performing some half-assed exorcism. He felt Vernon’s meaty hand close around his arm, and he was pulled to his feet.

 

“Are you still here, Dudley?” Vernon asked, his voice full of concern that Dudley hadn’t heard since Harry had dragged him home after the Dementor attack. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m…”

 

“Open your eyes, son,” Vernon said, and Dudley felt his stomach churn at the sound of pride in his father’s voice. “Open your eyes, I want to see you again.”

 

Dudley opened his eyelids. Vernon stared back at him, and past him. His pupils were dilated, and a muscle beneath his right eye twitched.  _He’s gone off the deep end,_ Dudley thought sadly.  _He thinks this actually…_

 

“Is it gone?” Vernon asked. “Is it…?”

 

Dudley held out his hand. “ _Accio_ ,” he said quietly, and the charm flew from the ground and into the palm of his hand. As his father looked on in shocked silence, Dudley pressed the two broken ends of the chain together, which fused as if they were placed under a spot welder. The loop closed again, he put it over his head and around his neck, tucking it beneath his t-shirt.

 

“I’m here, Dad,” he said. “Which is more than I can say about you.”

 

“Dudley…” Vernon gasped. “You’re… you’re…”

 

“I’m not cured,” said Dudley. “I was never sick.”

 

“You’re one of them…”

 

“I’m not,” said Dudley. “I’m not a demon. Neither is Mum. Harry’s not the fucking Antichrist. He’d be happy living his life at home, raising his kids. He doesn’t want to be the Minister of Magic, he doesn’t want to be the head of his department. He wouldn’t want to be assistant manager at Burger King. I doubt he’ll ever try to be the leader of the free world. He doesn’t have any drive to be in charge.

 

“Dad, you have to understand,” he continued, rubbing his temples with the tips of his fingers. “They’re not all evil. Most of them aren’t, just like most of us Muggles aren’t. They believe in God. They celebrate Christmas and Easter and Passover and Ramadan, just like Muggles. They love and hate and all of that crap that makes us unique. They’re not trying to take over the world. They’re just trying to live their lives.”

 

“Trying to live their lives,” Vernon said scathingly. “So you’ve fallen for it, too. Just like your mother. Just like the rest of the Dursleys…”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“My cousin was one of them,” Vernon said darkly. “Went to that coven, just like the rest of them.”

 

“What?” Dudley said, his mouth dropped. This was new information, something he had never… 

 

“Of course,” said Vernon. “How do you think I met your mother? Back then that school, as they like to call it, had a ceremony for their graduates. I got dragged along. Met Petunia, the only girl in the room who seemed just as uncomfortable as I did to be in that den of horrors. Besides your Aunt Marge, that is.”

 

“I…” Dudley’s mind reeled. He didn’t even know where to begin. “Your cousin…?”

 

“He died before you were born,” said Vernon. “No one ever said why, either. Best way I figured, it was good riddance to bad rubbish. Now I know that it was just another dead monster.”

 

“Stop calling them that!”

 

“They are what they are!”

 

“Okay, okay,” said Dudley, not fit to argue right now. There were just too many questions… “So Aunt Marge knows about all of this?”

 

“She knows that all of this nonsense goes on,” Vernon admitted. “Although, she never made the connection. She never even remembered that I met Petunia at the graduation, so she never knew the link between our cousin and the Potters.”

 

“What was his name?”

 

“Who?”

 

“Your cousin.”

 

“Benjy.”

 

“Benjy Dursley?”

 

“It doesn’t matter!” said Vernon. “He was one of them!”

 

“Dad, will you give it a rest about this fucking _us versus them_ thing?”

 

“Son, it may not have worked,” said Vernon. “But if you can just fight it a little more, I know some people. They can help us; they have more powerful items. They know how to handle banishments, they can…”

 

“No, Dad!” Dudley yelled. “We’re done! You’re mental!”

 

“You can’t do this, Dudley!” Vernon yelled, all pretense of stealth now gone as father and son stood screaming at each other. “You can’t marry this woman! Think of your soul!”

 

“My soul is just fine!” Dudley said. “For the first time in a long time, I feel good about my soul. I love her, Dad. And I’m not going through some Satanic ritual. We’re not sacrificing goats or taking part in some bloody orgy. We’re getting married. In a church. With a priest and a cross and all of that. So you tell me: If we were evil, could we do that? Wouldn’t we be fried before the organ started playing?”

 

Dudley glared at his father, who seemed to whither in front of him. His face fell, his hands dropped slack beside him.

 

“You’re lost,” he sobbed, and Dudley’s heart twisted as he heard nothing but sorrow in his once proud father’s voice. “You’re lost…”

 

“I’m not lost, Dad,” said Dudley quietly. “But I can’t come with you.”

 

“Leave,” Vernon whispered. “Leave now. Don’t taint me with your…”

 

“Goodbye, Dad,” Dudley said, unaware until that time that he was feeling tears in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

 

And without another word, Dudley Dursley walked away.

 

\---------

 

_How do I do this?_ Dudley thought to himself an hour later.  _I’ve seen Susan do it. Seen Harry do it on our end. Hannah and Justin, too. But is it that simple?_

 

_No better time to learn than now,_ he thought as he dropped to the cold stone floor.  _Most I can lose is my head, right?_

 

He sat on his knees in the small house. To the outsider, it looked like a ruined shack. But to the witches and wizards of England (along with the Muggles who gave birth to them, or the Muggles who are marrying them), it was just another stop on the Floo Network.

 

He grabbed a handful of Floo Powder from the flowerpot.  _Susan threw the shit in first,_ he thought.  _Then stuck her head into the fire._

 

He did just that. A burst of green flame erupted before him, and he dropped down onto his hands, crawling slowly toward the fire. He had done the full-body transfer before, but never this.

 

“The Burrow!” he yelled. His head swam, and it felt like he was being separated from the rest of his body, although he could still feel the cold stone beneath his palms.

 

_Oh, God, this is bad,_ he thought.  _I was only joking about the beheading!_

 

Soon enough, however, his brain seemed to find its bearings, and he was staring into kitchen of Molly and Arthur Weasley. It was dark.

 

“Fuck, it’s almost midnight,” he muttered to himself. He thought he could do this another time, but it was too important to put off. Better to take care of it now, and deal with the consequences later.

 

“Hello?” he yelled into the darkness. “Is anyone awake? Hello!”

 

There was no response.  _I shouldn’t have done this,_ he thought.  _I should have gone to Harry. Or Hermione. She’d have a decent idea about what to do._

 

But as he saw a dim glow of a candle on the stairs, he knew he had made a good enough choice. Harry and Hermione were his age. Arthur and Molly were the closest people Dudley knew to professionals in this world. If anyone could help, it was the Weasleys.

 

It was Molly who walked into the kitchen. It wasn’t a candle clutched in her hand, but her wand, the tip glowing. She was wearing fuzzy slippers and a tartan robe.

 

“Dudley?” she said warily as she got her first look at Dudley’s head floating in the hearth.

 

“Hello, Mrs. Weasley,” Dudley replied.

 

“What’s wrong, dear?” she replied, immediately on her guard. Dudley could tell that she wasn’t used to getting company at midnight unless there was an emergency.

 

“Nothing,” Dudley replied. “Or… or… yes, there’s something wrong.”

 

“Who is it?” she asked. “Is Susan hurt? Or Harry?”

 

“No, it’s not that,” Dudley said, not sure where to begin. “Mrs. Weasley, have you ever heard of a Benjy Dursley?”

 

“I… Benjy Dursley?” Molly asked. “Is he a relative of yours?”

 

“So you’ve heard of him?”

 

“No, I haven’t,” Molly replied. “I knew a Benjy Fenwick, but I’ve never heard of a Benjy Dursley.”

 

“Benjy Fenwick…” Dudley muttered to himself. “That might be right. How old is he?”

 

“Well, I don’t know how old he would be, dear,” said Molly, who seemed surprised to be having this conversation at this time of night. “I’ve lost track. He was friends with my brothers, but he was the same age as your Uncle James and Aunt Lily. But Benjy died years ago.”

 

“How did it happen?”

 

“Dudley, I can’t talk about it,” Molly said quickly. “It’s too… it was too gruesome.”

 

“But you do know how he died?”

 

“He was a member of the Order,” said Molly. “The Order of the Phoenix, I’m sure Harry’s told you about them. During the first war. I wasn’t a member at that point, none of the Weasleys were. But I heard enough from Fabian to know that he probably didn’t feel any pain when he went.”

 

Dudley nodded in the flames. He wasn’t sure if this Benjy was the same as his father’s cousin. But the pieces sure seemed to fit.

 

His father may have written him off, but Dudley was glad that Benjy Fenwick was at least one of the good guys.

 

“Was that all you called to ask about?” Molly asked. “It’s late, dear, and you have a big day tomorrow.”

 

“No, that’s not all…” Dudley sighed. He hesitated, knowing that what he said next would…

 

_Forget it,_ he said firmly.  _The options are shrinking by the minute for everyone. This is something you have to do._

 

“Look, can I come over?” Dudley asked. “I mean, can I come through and be all there? I need to talk to you and Arthur. 

 

“I need help.”


	24. Nine Years Later: M

 Nine Years Later:

München

 

\---------

 

Dean Thomas stopped at the entrance to the hotel’s dining area. Scanning the sun-lit room, he found his friend in the corner, a steaming cup beside her and a folded newspaper in her hand.

“Good morning,” he said as he sat down next to Parvati Patil.

“Morning,” Parvati replied, glancing up briefly before returning to her reading. “Hope I didn’t wake you up. I’m kind of an early riser.”

“Didn’t even know you were gone until I got out of the shower,” said Dean. “Besides, that’s one of the miserable things about working for a living. Your body doesn’t let you sleep in anymore.” He flipped over the cup on its saucer and poured himself some tea. “How is it?” he asked.

“Meh,” Parvati shrugged. “There’s a reason that Germany’s not known for its tea.”

Dean forced back a grimace after he took a sip.  “Yeah, you’re right, Nothing to write home about.”

“Told you.”

“Where’d you get the paper?”

“I ran across the street while you were still asleep.”

“Muggle?”  


”No, I picked it up in the wizard district,” she said after glancing around to make sure no one was in hearing range. “ _Das Tagliche Orakel_ , Munich’s wizard paper.”

“I didn’t know you read German.”

“I dabble a bit,” said Parvati. “You kind of have to speak some other European languages to work on the stock market. But not enough to read this.”

“Below-average tea and a newspaper you can’t read,” Dean sighed. “This is what I call vacation.”

“I used a spell,” Parvati replied. “A translation spell?”

“Oh, right,” Dean said, leaning in and speaking quietly. “But… we’re in public. Muggle public.” The only hotel on the _Asgardstrasse_ , Munich’s wizarding district had unfortunately been booked up, so they were currently staying in a nearby Muggle establishment.

“So?”

“So what if saw you cast the spell? And what if someone sees you reading an English newspaper?”

“Then they’ll think I bought some little independent publisher,” said Parvati. “I walked by a Muggle newsstand. If they had thirty different types of papers, it would be a conservative guess. I could have picked up _The Times_ if I wanted to.

“Besides, I cast the spell beneath the table. And it’s mostly stock futures I’m reading about. Your average waiter would be bored to tears just glancing over my shoulder.”

“And if only they knew what that really meant,” Dean chuckled. Parvati’s interest in Divination at Hogwarts had pushed her into a lucrative career with the London Galleon Exchange. While your average Muggle stock trader had to deal with buying and selling what they thought would be the more profitable stocks, wizard trading companies hired various soothsayers and fortunetellers, each competing with other companies to predict what would be a successful company six months, two years, ten years down the line.

Many Diviners, as they were called on the LGE, were quickly discovered to be frauds. Parvati wasn’t one of them. Like most, she was hit or miss on her predictions. It just helped that she was more _hit_.

“I promise I’ll bring it with me when we leave,” Parvati said patiently.

“I just don’t want to cause an international incident, that’s all,” said Dean. “Not with so many high-ranking officials on our trip.”

“I thought that would mean it would be easier to clear things up?”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Dean smiled. “Speaking of the ‘ambassadors,’ have we seen any of them yet this morning?”

“Not yet,” said Parvati. “You’re the second one down after me, unless Hermione dragged Ron out to sightsee at the crack of dawn.”

“She wouldn’t do that, would she?” said Dean as he took another sip of tea. “I mean, this is the big Gryffindor reunion weekend. You’d think she’d wait for the rest of us.”

“Well, this is Hermione,” said Parvati. “She turns 28 in two months, you’d think she’d be off her edutainment kick by now.”

Dean snorted. “Not bloody likely.”

“Oh, who are we kidding?” Parvati sighed. “It’s their first weekend in Merlin knows how long without a kid to interrupt them.”

“Yeah, they’re shagging like rabbits, I’d wager,” said Dean. “We should probably get a menu.”

“Good idea,” said Parvati. “I could use some breakfast.”

“Who’s talking about breakfast?” Dean asked as he glanced around the room and waived over a waiter. “Get comfortable. If we’re waiting for everyone before we head out on the town, we might as well start figuring out what we’re doing for lunch.”

\---------

_Ring! Ring!_

Ron Weasley felt himself pulled from a dreamless sleep, but refused to accept reality just yet.

_Ring! Ring!_

“’Mione, I changed her last time, it's your turn...”

_Ring! Ring!_

_Click._

Ron opened his eyes, and then closed them again quickly as daggers of sunlight punched into his retinas. Slowly, he pulled them open just enough to see his wife’s arm poking out of the bundle of blankets beside him. It was resting on the… the…

“Wazzat the fellytone?”

“ _Telephone_ ,” came Hermione Weasley’s muffled voice from beneath the covers.

“Why dinyou talk to it?” he asked groggily.

“Wake up service,” said Hermione. “Set it to call at eight.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” she grumbled, still completely covered. “Go back to sleep.”

“Shouldn’t we be getting up?” Ron asked.

“Few more hours… No one’ll miss us…”

“You sure?”

Hermione answered with a noise that Ron recognized as either a groan or a growl. He shrugged and threw the blanket back over himself, curling up next to Hermione.

“Don’ have to ask me twice.”

\---------

Parvati sighed as the waiter placed her breakfast in front of her. “We’re the only singles on this trip, aren’t we?”

“Well,” said Dean, “We are the only ones in a room with two beds.”

“How long has it been for you, anyway?” asked Parvati as Dean took a bite of his roll.

He looked off behind Parvati thoughtfully as he chewed. “Trying to do the math,” he said after most of it was swallowed. “Three years this October since Alison and I broke up. You?”

“Longer,” said Parvati. “Padma keeps trying to hook me up with one of her co-workers, but I’m just not that desperate yet.”

“Fair viewpoint,” said Dean. “I should look into that.”

“Padma’s co-worker?” said Parvati with a raised eyebrow. “Dean Thomas, I didn’t know you swung that way.”

“No, not being desperate,” Dean said with a chuckle. “Keeps getting me into trouble.”

“Can you cite your examples?” she asked, digging in her purse. “Hang on, let me get my quill.”

“A man's allowed a few secrets, isn’t he?” Dean said with a wink. “Besides, I know how you feel about getting hooked up with someone. Hermione keeps trying to pawn her cousin off on me.”

“Which one?”

“Gretchen.”

“Gretchen Wainwright?” asked Parvati. “Why not? Dean, she’s cute! And she’s really nice. I saw you two flirting at the wedding.”

“Yeah, we did,” Dean said with a shrug. “But she’s older than me.”

“So?”

“So I can’t do that.”

Parvati laughed in disbelief. “Dean, she’s older by, what, six months? A year?”

“Older is older,” Dean said as he took a bite of ham.

“And you call yourself desperate...” she said, shaking her head.

“I am desperate,” Dean said through his full mouth. “But I still have standards.”

Before she could reply, Dean was nearly pulled off his chair.

“Morning, Thomas,” said Seamus Finnigan, his large arm wrapped playfully around Dean’s neck.

“Hey, no fair sneaking up!” Dean said, elbowing Seamus in the stomach.

“Come on, boys,” Lavender Brown said as she sat down beside Parvati. “We’re in public.”

“Hey, just giving him my love, love,” said Seamus, rubbing his knuckles into Dean’s head before sitting down.

“I swear, they’re like this every time they get together,” Lavender said, rolling her eyes. Parvati could tell in Lavender’s voice that she wasn’t as frustrated with it as she was letting on.

“You can take the boys out of Hogwarts…” said Parvati. 

“Whenever Dean comes over I have to clean up at least a dozen prank spells between the two of them.”

“See, Dean?” Parvati said, pointing her fork at Lavender, “There is something to be said about maturity.”

“Hey, I’m all about maturity,” Dean said. “Just not… umm… more mature than I am?”

“Ah, Dean’s a big softie,” said Seamus, punching Dean in the arm. “He only lets out his dark side when I’m around.”

“There’s a difference between letting out my dark side and defending against the Dark Arts, Finnigan,” said Dean. “You usually get the first shot in.”

“Oy!” said Seamus in mock betrayal. “You can’t blame me if I have faster reflexes…”

“Are you sure you want to marry this one?” Parvati asked Lavender.

Lavender, who, despite being more comfortable showing off her scars around her friends and family, still wore nothing but long-sleeved turtlenecks in public, smiled and idly twisted the diamond engagement ring on her finger. “I like them tough,” she said. She still wasn’t the outgoing girl that Parvati knew before the attack, but, unlike before, she made her words count.

“You want a menu?” Dean asked the couple as the waiter approached.

“No, I think I should be okay,” said Seamus, turning to the waiter. “I’ll have two of whatever he’s having,” he said, pointing to Dean’s plate of ham, rolls, and fruit. “And what would you suggest for a breakfast pint?”

“Seamus!” said Parvati. “Beer already?”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s eight-thirty!”

“Hey, I’m on vacation,” said Seamus with a smile. “ _In Germany_. I want to absorb some local flavor.” He turned back to the waiter. “Give me your best _Maerzen_. I’m missing Oktoberfest, I might as well try its beer.”

“Und for you?” the waiter asked in thickly-accented English.

“ _Das Joghurtfrühstück, bitte_ ,” said Lavender after glancing at Parvati’s menu.

“Everyone knows German but me,” Dean said, shaking his head as the waiter departed.

“Ah, we’re only here for two more days,” said Seamus. “I think you can make it without being mocked as a tourist.”

“If we ever get around to being tourists,” said Lavender. “Where are the others?”

“Still waiting on them,” said Dean. “Parvati and I are of the opinion that everyone’s taking advantage of their temporary freedoms from children or school.”

“Or they’re just sleeping,” said Lavender. “A lot. Once the kids show up, the sex drives disappear with the sleep.”

“And you know this from personal experience?” Seamus said with a raised eyebrow.

“Not personal,” said Lavender. “But my cousins have a few kids. You can see it in their eyes. This constant weariness at being woken up night after night. Those four  all have that same look. This is their first weekend away from it since James was born.”

“Oh, please,” said Parvati. “Rose is a little angel. So’s Albus.”

“Even little angels poop their nappies,” said Seamus. “Besides, we’re in the room right next to Ron and Hermione. Didn’t hear one moan or pounding of the headboard against the wall all night.”

“Right, because they can’t do it unless they’re screaming,” said Dean.

Seamus’s mouth dropped open. “You mean people do it without screaming?”

“Funny…”

“Lav, we have to try this ‘quiet shag’ thing that Thomas is talking about,” said Seamus playfully. “Sounds kinky.”

Lavender snorted laughter as Dean’s head fell back against the chair. “And once again I’m reminded of the lack of any female contact in years.”

“Ah, don’t worry, Thomas,” said Seamus. “Just so long as you haven’t given your hand a name yet, there’s still hope.”

“I won’t cross it off my To-Do List quite yet.”

“Anyway, they’ll wake up when they wake up,” said Lavender. “We just have to give them a little time to catch up.”

\---------

“Get off,” Ginny Potter panted, smacking her husband on his bare back, morning sun shining into the hotel bedroom.

“But I’m comfortable here,” Harry replied, playfully snuggling himself into her bare breasts, considerably larger after two children.

“Well, I just had three orgasms, and I’m hyperventilating,” she said. “Having your fat arse on top of me isn’t helping.”

“Oh, all right,” Harry chuckled, flopping over onto the bed beside her. The couple laid in silence, staring up at the ceiling while attempting to catch their breath.

“Oh, wow, it’s been a while,” Ginny said eventually, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

“When’s the last time we were able to do something like this?” Harry asked.

“You mean be able to have sex for more than thirty seconds before someone starts crying?” Ginny replied. “I don’t even remember.”

“Crying or coming into our room,” said Harry. Now that James was out of his crib and in a regular bed, Harry and Ginny had frequent nighttime visits from their eldest son.

“Thankfully we haven’t had to explain our ‘special hug’ to James yet,” Ginny smirked.

“Is that what your parents called it?”

“That’s what they told Fred and George,” she said. “I, thankfully, have never had the pleasure of walking in on them.”

“You wouldn’t think being locked in a cupboard would have its advantages,” said Harry. “But at least I can say that it kept me from exploring. Even the mere thought of Petunia and Vernon getting it on makes me lose my appetite. It’s a flab thing.”

“And that’s a mental picture I’ll treasure forever, thanks, love,” Ginny said with a shudder.

“You know I aim to please,” said Harry, rolling over and throwing his arm across Ginny’s chest. “I know it’s a conversation we’re going to have to have eventually. I’m just hoping they at least reach double digits before we get there.”

“It will be nice when the kids get old enough to sleep through the night, is all.”

Harry chuckled. “We’re getting tired of having babies wake us up at night. And yet when’s the last time we used a protection spell?”

“Just because I want them to get older doesn’t mean I don’t want another,” said Ginny, pinching his arm. 

“I know exactly how you feel,” said Harry, rolling away from her again.  “Anyway, we should probably be thinking about a shower. I’m sure everyone’s downstairs waiting for us.”

“Nnnnnn,” Ginny groaned, throwing herself on top of Harry. “I don’t want to stop naked time yet. Thirty seconds of sex at home is bad enough. Having to do it clothed is something else.”

“You can have naked time in the shower.”

“ _Co-ed_ naked time?”

“You can have co-ed naked time in the shower.” Harry winked.

“Don’t tempt me,” Ginny said with a crooked grin. “The way I’m feeling we’ll probably run out of hot water before we even grab the soap.”

“We’re in a hotel,” said Harry. “It may be a Muggle hotel, but they’re still advanced enough to _not_ run out of hot water.”

“But I don’t want to leave the bed…”

“We still get another night before we go back,” said Harry. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Ginny pushed herself up to her elbows and glared down at Harry. “You raise many valid points,” she said. “And I concede defeat in this debate. Come on. Let’s shower.”

\---------

“Well, I want to see the _Residenz_ , that’s for sure,” said Hermione, scribbling notes on her pad.

“What’s that?” asked Seamus.

“It’s an old palace that was converted into a museum.”

“A museum of what?”

“Room decorations.”

“Oh, good, an interior design museum,” Seamus said. “That’s just what I wanted to come to Germany for. Couches and drapes.”

“It was built in the 14th century,” Hermione explained. 

“She says, fully knowing that we all went to a school in a castle that’s a thousand years old.”

“It’s absolutely fascinating. Oh!” Hermione flipped to a new page. “I want to get to the _Marienplatz_ , obviously--”

“Obviously…”

“—And all of the churches around it,” she continued unabated. “The _Frauenkirche_ , the _Peterskirche_ , the _Asamkirche_ …”

“Was she like this when you all were touring?” asked Lavender.

“This is only a day’s worth,” said Dean. “You should have seen her planning months of stops on every continent. She was relentless.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having a good plan,” said Hermione. “That way we can get the most out of our vacation.”

“But it’s a _vacation_ ,” said Seamus. “I’m all for finding a club and partying it up. If I wanted structure I’d go back to the office.”

“I’d stand back, mate,” Ron said to Seamus as Hermione glared at the Irishman. “Trust me, I’ve been married to her almost six years. You learn when to argue and when to duck and cover.”

“I’m all for it,” said Parvati. “I don’t know anything about this city. At least someone knows where all the hot spots are.”

“Thank you, Parvati,” said Hermione, returning to her notes.

“Oh, good, someone to break the tension,” said Ron loudly as Harry and Ginny entered the dining room.

“That’s a difficult position to put a girl into, big brother,” said Ginny, sitting down beside him.

“Have a good night?” Hermione asked.

“Great night,” said Harry with a wink to Ginny. “Very relaxing. You?”

“Slept like a bloody rock,” said Ron. “But I could still use another twenty hours. I feel like I have about a year’s worth to catch up on.”

“Yeah, you look it…” said Harry.

“Rookies,” said Ginny. “Once you get into your second kid, it’ll be a lot easier. Sleep hasn’t been an issue with Albus. Our bodies are already programmed to use what rest we can get.”

“Probably doesn’t hurt that you don’t have to run up three flights of stairs every time, either,” said Parvati.

“It wasn’t that bad,” said Harry. “And it wasn’t three flights. But, yes, it’s definitely easier since we moved out of Grimmauld Place. We only have to go across the hall for James now…”

“And we were actually smart enough to set up the crib in our room for Albus in the beginning,” said Ginny, grabbing a piece of Ron’s roll. “Less running back and forth.”

“Speaking of,” said Harry, leaning over Hermione’s notes, “mind if we make a stop by the wizard district before we get too far today? I want to Floo Molly and check on the boys.”

“Only after I talk to her first,” said Hermione. “ _Asgardstrasse_ ’s already on the schedule. I want to make sure Rose is doing okay on her first night away from home.”

“And I told you that you don’t have to worry about her,” said Ron. “These are my folks we’re talking about. They’ve been begging us to go on this trip for a while so they can have time to play grandparents.”

“Yes, but all three of them at once?” asked Hermione. “Isn’t that a bit much for Molly and Arthur?”

“They raised seven kids,” said Ginny. “Three’s nothing. Besides, they’re not going at it alone. Mum mentioned that Caroline’s having a sleepover at Teddy’s, so Dan and Charlotte conveniently arranged a dinner date at the Burrow to spend time with Rose. If Mum and Dad are too overwhelmed, you wouldn’t complain if Rose spent the night at your parents’ place, would you?”

“I don’t know…” Hermione still looked strained.

“Look, I don’t know about you, but I pumped about a bathtub full of breast milk,” said Ginny. “So I know Albus won’t be going hungry.”

“Thanks for the information, by the way,” said Seamus.

“They’ll be fine,” Ginny answered, ignoring Seamus' comment.

“How about this?” said Parvati. “Why don’t you four run over to _Asgardstrasse_ now? We’ll stick around here and wait for Neville and Luna. It’s not like we’re going to start sightseeing until they’re down here.”

“Should we call them?” asked Dean, glancing at his watch. “It’s almost ten. If we want to get as much out of this trip as we can before the Portkey leaves tomorrow, we should probably get started soon.”

“That might be a good idea,” said Harry. “Hermione and I can head over to _Asgardstrasse_ now. Ginny, Ron, want to come with?”

“Yes, please,” said Ginny, standing up quickly, her voice hinting at relief. Ron stood up with her.

“See?” said Harry to his wife. “I knew you were nervous.”

“I trust my parents,” Ginny said with a small smile, “but I still want to check on my boys.”

“Here,” said Seamus, grabbing a sweet roll from Dean’s plate and handing it to Harry. “You haven’t eaten yet. Nosh away.”

“Hey!” Dean shouted, smacking Seamus on the back of the head.

“Bloody hell, you’re like an old married couple,” said Ron to the two men, “only with a little less violence.”

“I’ll find a shop when I get there,” said Harry. “I’m in a schnitzel kind of mood, anyway, and I found a great little place here after a meeting with the German Ministry about a year ago. Thanks for offering Dean’s food, though, Seamus. I’m sure he appreciates it.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Seamus replied, taking a bite of the roll.

“You go check on the children,” said Lavender. “We’ll come find you when Neville and Luna arrive.”

“Meet us at the Owl Post,” said Hermione. “I’ve already looked at the map, it’s easy enough to find.”

“Or maybe Neville and Luna can arrive before we leave,” said Ron, pointing to the front of the dining hall, where Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood were entering. Ginny and Parvati waved to them, and they waved back and walked to the table.

“Leaving already?” asked Luna, as she saw the Weasleys and the Potters  standing around.

“We were just going to make a trip to the Floo,” said Ginny. “We were getting impatient. Did you oversleep?”

“We’re sorry,” said Luna. “We have been awake since eight or so. We just lost track of the time.”

“Sure you did,” said Ginny with a smirk. “I know how that can happen.”

“No, it’s not like that,” said Neville. “Okay, maybe it _is_ like that. A little... I think?” He glanced over at Luna, his face turning pink.

“Is everything okay?” asked Hermione, suddenly concerned.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Neville said quickly. “Everything’s fine.” Again, he turned to Luna. “I mean, it’s fine for me. You’re okay, right?”

“I’m very okay,” said Luna. “We just had break-up sex.”

Seamus, who was taking a drink, made a choking noise, and beer foam splattered around the tablecloth. “Damn it,” he croaked. “You were waiting for me to have my mouth full before you said that, I know it.”

“Oh, my God,” Ginny gasped, falling back into her chair.

“Just aiming for a spit take, weren’t you?”

“Seamus, shut up,” said Parvati before turning back to Neville and Luna. “You broke up? What happened?”

“This isn’t going to get weird again, is it?” asked Dean nervously. “I mean, when Ron and Hermione broke up, it… well, the vacation took a turn for the worse.”

“I’m not going to have to fight you, too, am I, Nev?” Seamus asked. “Because, I swear, I’m not going to make any moves on your old girl.” Lavender slapped him on the arm.

”No, it’s nothing like that!” Neville said, sitting down at the table. “Nothing bad happened. Or… well… nothing _really_ bad. It’s complicated.”

“But… but…” Hermione glanced helplessly between the two. “But you two are so good together!”

“We were… kind of…” said Neville. “But… but I don’t know how to explain it....”

“It wasn’t enough,” said Luna calmly. “We love each other. We may always love each other. But sometimes love isn’t enough.”

“Luna…” said Ginny, grabbing her hand. “I don’t know what to say…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” said Luna. “You don’t have to comfort us. Really. We’re fine. We came to this decision together.”

“It wasn’t easy, believe me,” said Neville. “But in the end we were both making each other more miserable because we were together.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense…” said Harry.

“Sure it does,” said Ron. “Harry, how did you feel when we were out Horcruxing? When you couldn’t see Ginny?”

“And multiply that by six years,” said Neville to Harry. “Luna and I barely saw each other. When we weren’t together, we spent half of our time wishing that the other one was there, and the other half being jealous of all of the other couples that could be together when we weren’t. That’s no way to have a relationship.”

“He knew that I wasn’t going to stop traveling for _The_ _Quibbler_ and the _Prophet_ ,” said Luna. “And I knew that he wasn’t going to leave Hogwarts. Our lives are going in two separate directions.”

“In the meantime, you had, what, a dozen different guys that you had to turn down?” asked Neville.

Luna nodded. “And seven women.”

“Damn,” Seamus said again as he wiped up more beer. “Another spit take moment. Someone make me stop drinking.”

“Can do,” said Dean, grabbing the stein. Seamus watched him pull it away, but only put up a weak resistance before turning back to the now ex-couple.

“I didn’t know you were bi, Luna,” said Seamus.

“I like people,” Luna said, shrugging. “And, since the road is no place to start a family, I don’t have to limit myself to finding a male partner.”

“Steve Perry couldn’t have stated it any better,” Dean chuckled.

“Who is that?”

“A Muggle singer,” said Dean. “For a band from the 80’s called Journey. Great songs, horrible music videos.”

“Wow,” Seamus slurred. “Luna’s…”

“Back to the topic at hand…” Lavender said loudly, breaking Seamus from his distant gaze.

“I was holding myself back because of my feelings for Neville,” said Luna. “Which is something we had promised ourselves we would not do. Plus there is Uriela…”

“Who’s that?” asked Parvati.

“New Hogwarts professor,” Ginny said, giving a hard glance at Neville. “Longbottom, if you cheated on Luna…”

“No, I didn’t!” said Neville. “There was no cheating.”

“You did kiss her once,” said Luna.

“He _what_?” Ginny growled, and Harry threw his arm out, grabbing hers.

“We’re in Muggle territory, love,” he said calmly. “No wands.”

“They kissed once,” said Luna. “About a year and a half ago. But it’s fine, I understand how it can happen.”

“Especially since Luna’s been kissed by two guys and three girls since we started dating,” Neville said to Ginny, trying his best to calm the fire burning in her eyes. “Ginny, it _happens_. When you’re alone, when you miss being with someone, it happens. There wasn’t any sex, though, I promise. It was purely lip on lip. Clothes stayed on, hands stayed above the equator.”

“Alright,” said Ginny, slowly lowering her hand from her pocket. “Just so long as you both aren’t fighting about it, I _suppose_ …”

“Well, at least you got two hours of break-up sex out of the deal,” said Dean.

“We actually talked for the first of those,” said Neville.

“An hour’s still better than I’ve had…”

“It’s not your pity party, sweetie,” said Parvati, patting Dean’s leg. “We can get drunk and bitch about our single lives more tonight, if you want.”

“You promise?”

“But if you try making a move on me, my wand’s going up your--”

“So you two are okay?” interrupted Harry. “No bad blood?”

“We’re still friends,” said Neville. “And just so long as she’s happy, then I’m happy.”

“I feel the same way,” said Luna, grabbing Neville’s hand. “I even told him that I approve of Uriela, if he decides to go down that path.”

“Good,” said Harry. “Then I’m personally going to leave it at that.”

“Hear, hear,” said Ron. “So when do we leave? There’s a Munich waiting for us.”

“After we stop by the Floo, of course,” said Ginny.

“Of course,” said Hermione as the group stood. They dug through their pockets, tossed their share of Euros onto the table to pay for breakfast, and walked to the lobby.

“So,” Ron said to Hermione as they trailed behind, quietly enough so the others couldn’t hear, “why didn’t we have break-up sex?”

“Because we weren’t having sex at the time,” she replied as they walked out to the street. “And because I hated you, remember?”

“Oh, yeah…” said Ron. “Well… I guess I didn’t even know there was such a thing.”

“And?” asked Hermione with a raised eyebrow.

“And I think we need to catch up.”

“You want to have the break-up sex that we didn’t have?”

“With interest?”

Hermione burst into laughter. “And what’s the interest rate on eight years?”

“I don’t know,” Ron said, putting his arm around her waist. “Probably a lot, though.”

Hermione reached over and squeezed the hand resting on her hip. “We’ll do the calculations tonight.”


	25. Nine and a Half Years Later: Everybody's Pregnant

Nine and a Half Years Later:  
Everybody’s Pregnant  
  
\---------  
  
George Weasley raised his glass.  
  
“I’d like to propose a toast,” he said, loud enough so that everyone in the Hog’s Head turned toward their table, “to the year 2019! When the Weasleys will once again reclaim their throne as the rulers of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”  
  
“Hey!”  
  
“Dursley can be our deputy,” George said, pointing at Dudley. “Or some kind of duke. But only if the kid ends up in Gryffindor. Otherwise he’s an enemy of the state.”  
  
“Now, George,” Arthur Weasley said sternly as Charlie Weasley, Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter broke into laughter around him, “I hardly think that’s appropriate.”  
  
“Okay, okay,” George said, rolling his eyes. “Dursley’s kid gets diplomatic immunity if he or she gets sorted into Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. But I’m drawing the line on Slytherin. Is that fair?”  
  
“I just don’t think it should be a competition,” his father replied. The fireplace crackled warmly behind him as outside the wind howled, a December blizzard blowing through the darkened streets of Hogsmeade village.  
  
“And what about Harry?” said Dudley. “He’s not a Weasley. His kids are Potters.”  
  
“Yeah, but their mum’s a Weasley,” said Ron. “And you don’t want to leave Ginny out of things unless you want horrible, horrible things to happen to your bogeys.”  
  
“Besides, Harry’s an honorary Weasley,” said Percy. “No offense to your mum or dad, but he always liked it better at the Burrow.”  
  
Dudley opened his mouth to argue, but then realized that he really didn’t have any response to that as it was a little too close to the truth.  
  
“And, Dad, it’s not a competition,” George continued. “But you can’t argue that the numbers are going to be overwhelming. I mean, what’s the reason we’re all here, anyway?”  
  
“To avoid the wives,” said Bill Weasley, taking a sip of his ale, “and the baby shower to end all baby showers. Except for Charlie.”  
  
It was a week after Christmas, and the Weasley wives, along with Ginny Potter and Susan Dursley, all five to eight months pregnant, decided it would be a fun time to get together and exchange gifts, war stories, and the like. Molly decided it was a wonderful idea, and declared the Burrow Ground Zero for the party, allowing the children to play together while the mothers did their thing.  
  
The husbands then decided that was their cue to get a drink.  
  
“Hey, don’t look at me,” Charlie, who was home for the holidays, replied. “As far as I know, I remain childless. I just don’t want be in the same room as that much pregnant estrogen. I’m afraid I’ll walk out with hot flashes.”  
  
“I don’t think I’m quite comfortable with the ‘as far as I know’ part,” Arthur said warily to his second-eldest.  
  
“That’s because he’s too busy giving enemas to dragons to find himself a woman,” said George. “And as progressive as our government has become, it has yet to recognize the love between a wizard and a giant winged reptile.”  
  
“George is right, though,” Ron said to his father. “I wish I could see the look on Flitwick’s face when that sea of Weasley first years step into the Great Hall.”  
  
“Probably won’t be Flitwick by then,” said Harry. “Neville says that he’s retiring after this year.”  
  
“Well, whoever it is,” Ron corrected. “What’s the count, anyway? Rose will be thirteen in 2019, plus the newcomer…”  
  
“It’ll be three for us,” said Harry. “James will be fifteen, Albus thirteen, plus the third.”  
  
“I’ll have two,” said Percy. “So will Bill…”  
  
“No, I’ll only have one,” said Bill. “Victoire’s going to be well past school age by then.”  
  
“And little Fred,” said George. “So that’s six Weasleys, three Weasleys pretending to be Potters, and one little Dursley who will do our bidding.” He laughed diabolically. “Scorpius doesn’t stand a chance. We will destroy everyone in our path.”  
  
“George…” Arthur sighed, knowing he was fighting a losing battle.  
  
“How are you so sure it’s going to be a Fred?” asked Dudley. “And not a Frederique?”  
  
“Because if it’s a Frederique, then my twin’s going to haunt me to the end of my days,” said George, scratching the side of his head where his ear used to be. “I have faith in the Weasley sperm. It’s a boy.”  
  
“What a nasty way of putting it,” said Arthur.  
  
“You have met Rose, right?” Ron asked George. “And Victoire? You do know that they’re girls, right?”  
  
“Yeah, well, your Ys are weak,” said George. “And they fear the power of Hermione’s double Xs.”  
  
“And Fleur’s part Veela,” said Charlie. “Bill’s never going to have a son. His Ys faint dead away once they realize where they’re swimming.”  
  
“Why am I in this conversation?” asked Arthur. “Is this how I raised my sons to talk?”  
  
“Oh, you know we’re just joking around, Dad,” said Percy, nursing his cranberry juice between laughs. “I’m going to try my best to make sure Fabian won’t be as arrogant as George is letting on.”  
  
“So he won’t be like his father, then?” said George, and ducked as Percy threw a peanut at him.  
  
The howling wind picked up as the door of the Hog’s Head opened and a cloaked figure entered. “Hey, Ab,” he said to the bartender as he knocked his boots on the doormat.  
  
“Evenin, Longbottom,” Aberforth Dumbledore said from his usual place behind the bar. “The usual?”  
  
“Nah, a firewhisky’s sounding good tonight,” said Neville, hanging his cloak on the coat rack. “Bloody cold out.”  
  
“Hey, he made it!” said Harry.  
  
“Of course I did,” said Neville. “I told you I’d make a stop.”  
  
“So they’re still letting the professors have a week off for Christmas?” asked Charlie. “Must be nice.”  
  
“Tiberius would have a mutiny on his hands if he didn’t keep it going,” said Neville, taking his whiskey and walking to the table. “Most of us don’t have a lot of family to visit, but it’s still nice to be able to get away and stretch your legs.”  
  
“Ogden’s a good man,” said Arthur. “He wouldn’t have started this in the first place if he didn’t think the school could handle it.”  
  
“I wonder why Dumbledore never got around to it doing it,” said Percy. “Setting a Christmas vacation for the faculty, that is.”  
  
“Because he knew better,” said Harry. “He always knew that Voldemort would come back. Plus, he knew that there were still Death Eaters out there who believed it, too. He just didn’t know when it would happen. So he probably decided the students would be safer with a full staff present.”  
  
“Things are easier now,” Neville agreed. “We still have to keep our guard up, of course. But it’s not nearly what it was when Hogwarts had giant basilisks and double agents roaming the halls. And if anything bad starts happening again, I’ll be back at Hogwarts full time, no problem.”  
  
“It helps that the school is on the same page as the Ministry for once, too,” said Arthur. “If Kingsley or the Aurors smell anything funny, you know Tiberius will be the first to hear about it.”  
  
“So what did I miss?” asked Neville.  
  
“Not much,” said Charlie. “George here was telling us how Fredrique’s going to declare herself empress of Hogwarts.”  
  
“Fredrique?”  
  
“She’s not going to be Fredrique,” said George. “Hell, she’s not even going to be a she.”  
  
“All self-assurance towards your little swimmers aside,” said Ron, “What’s little Fred going to be if he’s not going to be a he?”  
  
“Winifred might work,” said Dudley. “That can shortened down to Fred…”  
  
“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” said George. “Power of positive thinking, you know?”  
  
“How’s Verity feel about your power?” asked Charlie.  
  
“Well, what did the sonogram say?” Dudley asked. “Did you ask your doctor to let you know the gender?”  
  
“A what now?”  
  
“It’s an amazing piece of Muggle technology,” said Arthur, leaning forward excitedly as he always did when talking about his favorite hobby. “A sonogang--”  
  
“Sonogram…” Dudley corrected.  
  
“--Makes sound and turns it into pictures.”  
  
“I don’t get it,” said Ron.  
  
“Well, you know how a bat can tell where it’s going in the dark?”  
  
“Magic?”  
  
“No, nothing so mundane,” said Arthur, and Harry was once again amused by Arthur’s definition of mundane. “It makes a high-pitched squeal that bounces off objects and comes back to the bat’s ears.”  
  
“I suppose I should have paid attention in Magical Creatures,” said Ron.  
  
“Anyway, the somogam does the same thing,” said Arthur. “Except it records the sound that comes back from the baby and turns it into a picture. Absolutely fantastic what Muggles can invent if they have the drive. Dudley, do you have a stenogam machine?”  
  
Dudley stared blankly at Arthur. “Um…”  
  
“Most Muggles don’t have one, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry. “They’re big and expensive and pretty much useless to anyone but doctors.”  
“Oh, I would think it would be terribly useful,” Arthur corrected. “You could use it to see what’s in your refrigerator, or to discover if you have a mole problem in your garden.”  
  
“I don’t think it works like that…” Harry said, glancing over at Dudley to see that he was trying to hold back his laughter.  
  
“Of course it doesn’t,” said Ron. “Because pickles don’t make sounds. So you wouldn’t be able to listen to them like you could listen to a baby.”  
  
“I… umm…,” Harry stammered. “Um, no… Just forget it.”  
  
“So you talked Susan into getting one of those?” Bill asked Dudley. “One of those sonograms?”  
  
”Yeah, she indulged me,” said Dudley. “After we went to St. Mungo’s, that is. What can I say? I just don’t trust some guy who points a stick at my wife’s stomach and says ‘the baby’s fine, here’s your bill.’”  
  
“Well, Healers can find a lot of diseases and abnormalities that Muggles can’t,” said Arthur. “You just have to put a little more trust into what they say.”  
  
“Call me stubborn, I guess,” Dudley shrugged. “I just want what’s best for my kid.”  
  
“Like father like son, eh?” Harry said with a chuckle, which dropped off his face quickly when Dudley turned away nervously.  
  
“So, um, Dursley,” George said, also recognizing Dudley’s reaction to the comment. “So you got the sonowhatsis. You know if you’re having a boy or a girl?”  
  
“No,” said Dudley, returning to reality. “No, the doctor always asks the parents if they want to know. Suze and I don’t want to know until it’s born.”  
  
“Healers run the same way,” said Harry. “Ginny and I want to be surprised, too. I told them the only thing I want them to say is if the baby’s healthy and if there’s more than one of them.”  
  
“Is there?” asked Ron. “You haven’t said anything about twins.”  
  
“No, no,” said Harry quickly. “We’re flying solo again.”  
  
“Did anyone ask?” asked Percy. “Anyone know if it’s a boy or a girl, George’s hubris notwithstanding?”  
  
“It’s not hubris,” said George. “What’s hubris?”  
  
“We already know,” said Bill, raising his hand slightly. “We’re having a girl.”  
  
“Ha!” said Charlie. “Told you. Fainted dead away.”  
  
“This is the first time I’ve heard about this,” said Arthur. “Congratulations on your girl, then, Bill. Have a name decided yet?”  
  
“We’re going with Matilda,” said Bill. “Matilda or Briana, we’ll decide later.”  
  
“More French, huh?” asked Neville.  
  
“We decided that Fleur’s better at the girl names,” Bill replied. “And I’m better with the boy names. I think we might take one more shot after this for a William, Jr.”  
  
“You have a better chance of seeing Harry make out with Malfoy, mate,” George said with a chuckle.  
  
“Horrible mental image,” said Ron darkly, taking a long swallow of his ale.  
  
“So how about you, Harry?” asked Percy.  
  
“Not interested in snogging Draco, sorry, Percy,” said Harry.  
  
“No,” Percy replied. “Names. You have any decided yet?”  
  
“We’ve narrowed it down,” said Harry. “We’re going with Lily if it’s a girl, and Harry Jr. if it’s a boy. Ginny always liked the idea of having a boy named after the father, so that was her choice. How about you?”  
  
“We haven’t thought of a girl’s name yet,” he replied. “But we’re looking at Gideon as a boy’s name. That was the name of Mum’s brother.”  
  
“We’re going with Hugo,” said Ron confidently. “Hugo or Jennifer.”  
  
“Hugo?” George snorted. “That’s what you’re going to name your kid?”  
  
“Hey, come on,” Ron said, his face reddening. “You remember Uncle Hugo, don’t you? He was a blast!”  
  
“He was weird,” said Percy. “Always tried to give me candy.”  
  
“Like I said,” Ron pressed, “He was fantastic!”  
  
“They had little hairs on them!”  
  
“I suppose it shouldn’t be that bad,” said Dudley. “You could call him Hugh or something. Like the guy who played Wolverine.”  
  
“I’m not even going to ask for an explanation of that one,” said George as he stared at Dudley. “I’m just going to write it off as more Muggle ramblings.”  
  
“Yours is going to be a Dursley, right?” Harry asked Dudley. “You’re not going to put an end the name?”  
  
“Yeah,” said Dudley quietly. “My dad might not be all…” he paused. “Might not like my marriage, but there were a few decent Dursleys around when he and Mum were still together. I don’t want the name to end here. So it’s not going to be a Bones, or a Bones-Dursley, or anything like that.”  
  
“Have any names thought out?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dudley said with a small smile. “Evan.”  
  
“A little boring, isn’t it?” asked George. “Not very magical.”  
  
“Doesn’t have to be,” said Harry, his smile matching Dudley’s. “I think it’s brilliant.”  
  
“My mum and her family deserve at least a little credit for me being where I’m at,” Dudley explained. “For me meeting Susan and being in the middle of all of… all of this. I think it’s the least I could do.”  
  
Harry patted his cousin on the back. “I only wish I had thought of it myself.”  
  
“And how about Charlie?” George said loudly. “What have you and Mrs. Dragon decided to name your little hatchling?”  
  
“Funny,” said Charlie, giving George the fingers. “Very funny.”  
  
“Someone had to say something,” George replied. “The sap was running thick with the two little girls over there. I was about two seconds away from punching Bill just to get things back on track.”  
  
“You know I could take you, kid,” Bill chuckled.  
  
“You’re not allowed to use your walker as a blunt weapon, old man,” said George. “Fair’s fair.”  
  
“Hey!” said Arthur indignantly. “If Bill’s an old man, what does that make me?”  
  
“You’re Dad,” said George quickly. “You’re an immortal.”  
  
“And one of the most popular grandfathers in England by the time all is said and done,” said Bill, patting his father on the shoulder.  
  
“ _One of the most popular grandfathers,_ yeah,” said Arthur. “You just wait until your mother gets going, she’s going to spoil all ten of them until we’re in the poorhouse.”  
  
“Yeah, but you’ll get crayon-drawn thank you cards every day,” said George. “You can use them to keep your fireplace going when you can’t afford coal.”  
  
“What a heartwarming thing to say…” Arthur said dryly.  
  
“Aw, you know I love ya, Dad,” said George. “Just making you fully aware of what we’ve gotten you into.”  
  
“How thoughtful…”  
  
“So how long is this party going, anyway?” asked Neville. “I still have to make a stop to say hello to the girls tonight.”  
  
“What, leaving already?” asked Ron. “You’re just getting started!” He pointed down at Neville’s firewhisky, which was only half-consumed.  
  
“Well, I want to catch them all tonight,” Neville replied. “Same with you guys. It’s easier when they’re all in one place.”  
  
“They’re all huge,” said George. “They’re not going anywhere fast.”  
  
“Why do you need to see them all tonight, anyway, Neville?” asked Harry. “You have all week.”  
  
“Actually, I don’t,” said Neville. “I’m heading out tomorrow morning for most of the week.”  
  
“Oh, really?” asked Harry. “I didn’t know you were doing anything other than hanging out with us sloths?”  
  
“Last minute plans, actually,” said Neville, standing up. “Uri and I decided we haven’t had much or, well, any time alone since we started dating. So she’s making her prerequisite visit to her aunt and uncle tonight. I spent the morning and afternoon with Gran. And tomorrow morning, we’re off to Venice for the week.”  
  
“Oh, good choice,” said Arthur. “Venice is lovely any time of the year. And anywhere beats this tundra.”  
  
“That’s the plan,” said George with a twisted smirk. “Somewhere warm, somewhere pretty, where the clothing can be purely optional at night…”  
  
“George!” said Percy.  
  
Neville blushed slightly, but didn’t really have any reason to disagree with George’s reasoning.  
  
“So how’s it working out, anyway?” asked Ron. “Any chance that there’s going to be a little Longbottom joining our legion of Weasley?”  
  
“We’ve only been dating since the school year started,” Neville replied. “I really don’t think that either of us is ready to discuss that yet.”  
  
“I suppose it can’t be going that badly if you’re spending a week alone with her. You didn’t even do that with Luna.”  
  
“Well, we do get to see each other a lot,” said Neville. “Just not… you know… quality time’s hard to come by when you’re sharing a building with a couple hundred other people.”  
  
“And I’m sure Professor Ogden wouldn’t look too kindly on the example set by two professors slipping off into a dark corner at night,” said Percy.  
  
“Exactly,” said Neville. “I get to see her more than I got to see Luna. But we can’t get much… umm…” he cast a nervous glance at Arthur, trying to word himself carefully around his elders. “We haven’t been able to be together together as much as when I was with Luna. We can’t both leave the grounds at the same time.”  
  
“Are you regretting breaking up with Luna?” asked Arthur. “And you’re happy with Uriela?”  
  
 _We’ve only just begun  
White lace and promises_  
  
Every head in the bar turned toward the table, where words and music seemed to be coming from under the table.  
  
 _A kiss for luck and we’re on our way_  
  
“What the bloody hell is that?” asked George. “You have a singing pixie in your pocket?”  
  
“Sorry,” Dudley said, quickly reaching for his pocket. “It’s Mum.”  
  
“Your Mum’s a singing pixie?”  
  
“It’s her ringtone,” said Dudley, standing up and digging through his pocket.  
  
“Why would you have The Carpenters as your ringtone?” asked Harry.  
  
“It’s her favorite song,” Dudley said with an uncomfortable smile.  
  
“Thank God I don’t have a phone number,” said Harry as Dudley flipped open his mobile phone. “I don’t want to know what you decided my favorite song was.”  
  
“Something off _Sabbra Cadabra_ ,” said Dudley. “Hey, Mum. What’s up?”  
  
“I’m very happy with her,” Neville continued, speaking to Arthur.. “And, no, I’m not regretting with happened with me and Luna. We’re still friends.”  
  
“Then let me give you this piece of advice,” said Arthur, “as a man with decades of experience under his belt: Don’t compare. Luna was your first girlfriend. Uriela’s your second. But they’re completely different people. Don’t start saying ‘well, one girl was better with this, one was better with that.’ That way leads to madness. Just be happy with who you’re with.”  
  
“What?” Dudley said into his phone, sitting back down again.  
  
“I thought Mum was the only girl you were ever with, Dad,” said Charlie.  
  
“Okay…” Dudley continued.  
  
“Just because she was the only girl I ever dated doesn’t mean that I don’t have experience raising six boys and one girl,” said Arthur. “Trust me, I’ve had to deal with enough second-hand drama to last any man three lifetimes.”  
  
“Okay…”  
  
“I’m not comparing,” said Neville. “You don’t have to worry, Mr. Weasley. I’m happy where I am. I still care about Luna, might always love her in some way. But this is better for everyone. I’m happier now…”  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Dudley said quietly. “I’ll… yeah… yeah, I’ll be right over…”  
  
“And from what her owls have been saying, she’s feeling the same way.”  
  
“Well, that’s good to hear, Neville,” said Arthur with a smile. “I’m proud that you two were able to make such a mature decision.”  
  
There was a slight snap from Dudley’s hand as he flipped his mobile phone closed.  
  
“Dudley?”  
  
Harry was staring at his cousin, and everyone else at the table followed Harry’s gaze. Dudley was staring out the window at the snow, now no longer blowing through the dark. It was still thick, but was now more serene.  
  
“Dudley?” Harry repeated.  
  
This time Dudley Dursley heard him, and turned slowly to look at Harry. His face was slack. Still distant.  
  
“Is everything okay?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Dudley sat in silence. Harry’s cousin had gotten better in the time that he and his mother had returned to Harry’s life. He seemed more intelligent. More compassionate. This facial expression was the one that Harry recognized from the old Dudley. The kind of face that seemed like he was trying to connect two jigsaw puzzle pieces together.  
  
“I…” he said quietly. “I have to go.” With that, he stood up.  
  
“Dudley, what happened?” Harry asked. “Is it Susan? Is it Aunt Petunia?”  
  
“It’s…” Dudley’s throat clicked. “It’s Dad…”  
  
“What about him?” asked Harry. “Did something happen?”  
  
“Dudley…, Arthur said quietly.  
  
“No,” Dudley said to Arthur. “No. It has nothing to do with that, I don’t think. It’s not your fault…”  
  
“If there’s anything we can do…”  
  
“No,” Dudley repeated. “There’s not.”  
  
 _What was that all about?_ Harry wondered as his cousin and his father-in-law shared some sort of silent understanding. He could see from the blank faces around the table that he wasn’t the only one in the dark as Dudley turned back to the rest of the table.  
  
“Look… umm… I have to go. I’m going to my Mum’s place.”  
  
“Dudley, what happened?” Harry repeated.  
  
“Can someone get Suze home?” Dudley continued. “She’s not supposed to do any teleportation while she’s pregnant, and I don’t think I’m going to be able to…”  
  
“I can drive her,” said Bill. “I can drive her home, no problem. Or do you want me to drive her to your mum’s place?”  
  
Dudley’s face went slack. Once again Harry was watching two puzzle pieces being worked together, and it scared him.  
  
“You can ask her,” he said. “She probably shouldn’t be straining herself, but I’ll leave it to her.”  
  
“What should I tell her?”  
  
“It’s my dad,” Dudley said quietly, telling Harry as much as everyone else. “He had a heart attack. He… he didn’t make it.”  
  
The table fell silent. Harry fell back down into his seat as this news hit him. “Oh, God…” he breathed.  
  
“Look, I should go,” Dudley said quickly. “I… I need to get some air… clear my head. I’ll… I guess I’ll take one of the Floos on the other end of town. I just need a few minutes.”  
  
“Sorry, Dudley,” said Ron, looking helplessly around the table. “Blimey, I don’t know…”  
  
“It’s alright,” said Dudley. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ll… I’ll talk to you guys later.”  
  
And before anyone could say anything else, Dudley Dursley was out the door of the Hog’s Head and in the streets of Hogsmeade, leaving Harry, Neville, and the Weasley men to glance up at each other nervously before looking back down at their drinks.  
  
“Well, that ended the festivities quickly,” Charlie said eventually. “Bloody hell…”  
  
“What’s a heart attack?” George asked, looking around the table. “Did something attack his heart?”  
  
Harry thought he was joking, but then realized that cholesterol and artery blockage were far down on the list of risk factors when they could be removed magically.  
  
“Harry?” Ron asked, leaning over to his best friend. “Are you alright, mate?”  
  
Harry didn’t know what to say. God, what could he say? Out of all of the Dursleys, Uncle Vernon had always been the worst of the lot. Dudley could beat him up whenever he wanted. Petunia could look down his nose at him, make him do every chore in the house. But Vernon was the only one who openly loathed him, who always looked at him like he was a leper. Or a piece of dog shit stuck to the bottom of his shoe.  
  
But still…  
  
“He forgot his coat,” Harry said quietly, nodding his head slightly toward the seat that had been filled by Dudley a minute before. Dudley’s jacket, a gray Columbia winter coat, was draped across the backrest.  
  
“I’ll bring it with me when I pick up Fleur and Susan,” said Bill.  
  
“No, I’ll bring it to him now,” said Harry, standing up. “I need to talk to him.”  
  
“Harry,” Arthur Weasley said, putting his hand on Harry’s arm. “Harry, there’s something I should tell you…”  
  
“Don’t,” Harry said. “If Dudley wants to tell me whatever went on between you two, then he will. But it seems like it’s his secret. I don’t want you to tell me if he doesn’t want me to know.”  
  
“Harry…”  
  
“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry, pulling his cloak from the coat rack before taking Dudley’s coat from the back of the chair. “I’ll talk to you all later, right?”  
  
“I’ll follow you out,” said Neville, taking his own cloak from its hanger and wrapping it around himself. Harry nodded in acceptance.  
  
“If you don’t come back, Floo us when you get home,” said Ron. “Hermione, Ginny, and I will get a lift from one of the others. We’ll wanna know what happened.”  
  
“Okay,” Harry nodded, then walked out the door and into the cold December snow.  
  
\---------  
  
Harry and Neville stood under the lamp outside of the Hog’s Head’s front door. The snow had been coming down thick, and was up to their ankles in the usually-cleared street. Harry looked down to see a pair of fresh footprints fading into the distance, but the darkness clouded his vision before he could see where Dudley had gone off to.  
  
“Dudley?” he called out.  
  
“Harry, I’m gonna head back to my place,” said Neville. “I’ll Floo to the Burrow from there.”  
  
“Yeah, alright,” Harry said with a sigh. “Have a safe trip, okay?”  
  
“Always do,” said Neville, shaking Harry’s hand. “I’m sorry to hear about your uncle.”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry repeated, taking another glance along the cobblestone road. “I’m not the one I’m worried about, though.”  
  
“I know,” said Neville. “Look, if you want to send me an owl, go ahead. Uri and I are going to be in Venice the whole week, so it won’t be chasing us very much.”  
  
“Sure, I can do that,” said Harry. “I’ll see you later.”  
  
“See ya,” said Neville, patting Harry on his shoulder, already dusted with flakes, before walking off toward his flat, the opposite direction of where Dudley’s footprints lead.  
  
 _If it were any other month, I’d be screwed right now,_ Harry thought, studying Dudley’s tracks and following them.  
  
“Dudley?” he called into the darkness. “Dudley, you still around? I got your coat!”  
  
There was no answer. Harry didn’t expect there to be. But he didn’t need to look very far before the footprints trailed off the street to the side of one of the Hogsmeade buildings. There, Harry found…  
  
“Jesus,” Harry gasped, jogging over to his cousin. “Dudley!”  
  
Dudley was hunched over, one hand pressed against the wall of the shop (Madam Puddifoot’s, Harry noticed). He was making horrible retching noises, and at his feet…  
  
“Dudley, are you alright?”  
  
Dudley coughed roughly, and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “It’s probably good I decided to skip the fried chicken,” he rasped. “But otherwise I’m pretty fucking far from alright.”  
  
“Well, have your coat, at least,” said Harry, “and have a… umm…” He looked around the street, and realized that the curbs were just as packed with snow as everything else. “Have a lean. Take a breather.”  
  
Dudley nodded, pulled his coat on, and leaned his back against the wall of Puddifoot’s. Harry did the same.  
  
“If it makes you feel any better,” Harry said. “You’re probably not the only one who’s vomited outside this place before. You should see it at Valentine’s Day, it’s…”  
  
Harry trailed off, glancing over at Dudley. His cousin’s head was tilted back, face towards the falling snow, his eyes closed, his breathing slow.  
  
“I’m sorry,” said Harry. “I know this is a shock…”  
  
“Not really,” Dudley muttered. “Part of me’s not really surprised. The writing’s been on the wall for a while. He hadn’t been treating himself very well since the divorce, and he was never the healthiest guy to begin with. Only a matter of time before he had one too many cigarettes, one too many drinks of whisky, one too many trips to the all-you-can-eat prime rib buffet at the casino on Canal Street.”  
  
“Still doesn’t make it any easier…” Harry said quietly.  
  
“No,” Dudley replied. “No, it doesn’t…”  
  
“How’s your Mum taking it?”  
  
“I don’t know,” said Dudley. “She sounded kinda… umm… didn’t sound much of anything at all on the phone. She’s kinda hated him since your wedding. But I don’t think she’s taking it very well anyway.”  
  
“If there’s anything I can do,” said Harry, “You know we’re here. Me and Ginny both…”  
  
“Yeah, I know…”  
  
“And I don’t know if there’s any word on the funeral yet,” Harry continued, “But if you want us to be there…”  
  
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” said Dudley.  
  
"Look, Dudley, I know that Vernon and I never saw eye to eye. But he was still my uncle..."  
  
"Actually, he thought you were a criminal."  
  
"Well, I know he said it," Harry insisted, wondering why he was trying to argue this point, "But he accepted more than I ever thought he would as time went on. I have to at least be there to show that..."  
  
"No, I mean, he really thought you were a criminal," Dudley said, his eyes dropping to the snow-covered street. "He thought that you're in Belmarsh, serving a ten-year sentence for armed robbery."  
  
Harry stared at his cousin, whose eyes continued to study his shoelaces. "What are you talking about? Uncle Vernon never had his memory modified..."  
  
"Harry, I didn't know what else to do!" Dudley cried out, looking back at Harry with pleading eyes. "He was insane! I couldn't just... I couldn't just leave him like that!"  
  
"Dudley, calm down," said Harry, looking up and down the street to see if they were alone, then leaned in to speak more quietly. "What happened? You haven't seen Uncle Vernon since you moved back."  
  
Dudley studied Harry's face. "You have to promise me," he said. "Promise me this doesn't go anywhere. My mum can't know about this."  
  
"I can't promise..."  
  
"Harry..."  
  
"Dudley, _what happened_?"  
  
Dudley closed his eyes. His head hung low.  
  
"Dudley," said Harry quietly, leaning in, "I'm sorry. If you don't want to say anything, you..."  
  
"Last year," Dudley said, "About a week before the wedding, I got a letter from Dad asking to meet up with me the night before the wedding. I didn't know why; I wasn't sure if he had wanted to make up to me, if he wanted to tell me I was a fucking idiot for marrying a witch, I don't know what."  
  
"Did you even send him an invitation?" asked Harry. "How did he know about the wedding?"  
  
"Mum put the engagement announcement in the newspaper."  
  
Harry nodded. Petunia knew to keep her head down about the magical world, but of course there wouldn't be a problem with doing that. She was raised as a Muggle, she wanted to keep with Muggle societal norms. It's not like the announcement read _Dudley Dursley, construction manager, to wed Susan Bones, Ministry of Magic official._  
  
"So I got together with him," Dudley continued. "After the rehearsal dinner, I took a Floo out to Surrey. Met him at St Martha-on-the-Hill. And he tried to talk me out of it, of course. Tried to convince me that I was making a mistake, that you all were brainwashing me. That the worst thing in the world would be for me to have a wizard for a kid, and that's where I was going if I married Suze."  
  
Dudley took a deep breath.  
  
"He didn't like that very much," he said. "And he... God, I don't know what the hell happened to him since the divorce. He fell in with the wrong crowd, which I know sounds really stupid when you're talking about someone like Dad. But it's right. He knew that he couldn't tell anyone about you and the others. But he also thought he needed to get us out of here. Well... get me out of here. He wrote off Mum a long time ago, thought it was our grandparents to blame, that Mum was just as bad as Aunt Lily. So he started looking around for other alternatives. Found some extremists, I don't know if it was on the internet or what, but he met some people who convinced him that... that..."  
  
"That what?"  
  
"That we were being influenced by dark forces," said Dudley. "That you were demons or evil creatures or whatever. And that we were being possessed. They got to him, they convinced him that this was right. And he was fucking gone.  
  
"He attacked me. Shot me with a fucking taser. Tried to destroy my crystal. Used bloody _holy water_ , for chrissake. Poured a bottle all over the crystal, and another one on me, trying to exorcise me or something."  
  
"Jesus..." Harry breathed. _This can't be right. Dudley's talking about_ Uncle Vernon? "So what did you do?"  
  
"I got the hell out of there," Dudley said, his voice shaking. "I didn't have to run away. I told him that I wasn't possessed, told him that you weren't the Antichrist. Took my crystal back and left."  
  
"And he didn't come after you?"  
  
"He was a mess," Dudley said. "I... I didn't know what to do. I couldn't leave him there, couldn't... couldn't let him go back to America, knowing the length that he was willing to go, where his mind was at. So I went to the only people I could think of: Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."  
  
Harry thought back to a few minutes ago, the meaningful look between Arthur and Dudley.  
  
"You altered his memory..."  
  
"They made him believe the story that he was telling everyone else," said Dudley. "The story that he had been telling Aunt Marge, telling his co-workers, telling our neighbors and everyone else who had been wondering about where you went every school year, and especially after Dedalus and Hestia took us back in '97."  
  
"That I was a criminal," Harry said, his stomach sinking.  
  
"Pretty convincing, if you think about it," Dudley said with a reluctant smirk. "Mum and Dad had been saying that James and Lily Potter, a black sheep and a waste of space, got themselves killed in a car accident and left you on our doorstep to be a misery in our otherwise perfect life. That you were just as bad as your parents had been, and were attending St. Brutus’s. After we moved to America, my dad told Aunt Marge that you had relapsed, gotten dangerous. That you had put a hit out on us, and that we were placed into Witness Protection so that you or your goons couldn’t find us.”  
  
“And Aunt Marge didn’t do anything?” asked Harry. “She didn’t think I was going to be a danger to her?”  
  
“Of course not,” said Dudley with a sneer. “She always hated you, but at the same time she always thought that she had the upper hand. She wouldn’t dream that you would dare try to hurt her, not with all of her dogs guarding her.”  
  
“So that’s what you told everyone,” said Harry. “That’s how you covered it up.”  
  
“I didn’t,” said Dudley, and Harry could see in his eyes that he meant it. “After we left Privet Drive, I was all for you, mate. It was Dad that kept coming up with this shite; Mum was having troubles with it, too. But it made enough sense where we just sort of went with it, since, for all we knew, we were never going to see you again anyway.  
  
“After we came back for your wedding, and after the fiasco that came out of that, Dad just kept building up the story. He told Aunt Marge that you had gotten off on a technicality, and you ended up marrying one of your fellow delinquents after you knocked her up.”  
  
Harry glared at Dudley. He knew he shouldn’t think badly of someone so recently departed. _Ginny’s a knocked-up delinquent, is she?_  
  
“It was Dad, Harry, seriously,” Dudley said quickly, seeing the anger in Harry’s eyes. “I didn’t even know that he had come up with any of the after the wedding shit, except that they used some sort of truth serum on him before they altered his memory. To make sure that everything clicked.”  
  
”Veritaserum,” Harry said, trying to force his anger down. “It’s a truth potion, extremely powerful. Arthur actually used it on Uncle Vernon?”  
  
“After he got permission, yeah,” said Dudley. “He convinced the Ministry that this was a special case, and they agreed with him. I guess the Aurors were ready to alter Dad’s memory after the reception, but Mr. Shacklebolt talked them out of it. Now he recognized that it was a mistake to have let Dad go free, and figured it was better late than never to screw with his head.  
  
“So Mr. Weasley contacted the Ministry, and he and Mr. Shacklebolt tracked Dad down. He hadn’t gone very far, but I guess it’s pretty easy to find someone if you use the right magic. Mr. Weasley knocked him out with his wand, and they used the truth stuff on him, and did whatever they did with his brain.”  
  
Harry nodded. If Kingsley, the Minister of Magic, had personally involved himself into the operation, Harry knew that it was important. He also recognized that the Minister held himself accountable for his mistakes, and was more than willing to get his hands dirty to fix them. _Not a lot of Ministers would do that_ , thought Harry.  
  
“So they told him to go back to Milwaukee,” Dudley continued. “To live his life. As soon as he got into bed that night, he forgot that he ever came here. He remembered everything that they had told him to remember. And he lived the last year of his life believing that Mum and I had left him because we believed you had turned a corner. That you failed us by getting re-arrested and tossed into prison a year after you and Ginny got married. And that he could gloat to himself, to Aunt Marge, and to his colleagues at the drill factory that he was smarter than all of us, because he saw what a miserable person you would turn out to be from the moment you showed up on our doorstep.”  
  
Harry leaned quietly against the wall of Madam Puddifoot’s, staring out onto the darkened street, his mind trying to wrap itself around everything that had just come into it.  
  
“And don’t worry,” said Dudley. “I don’t think you’re a miserable person. Neither does Mum.”  
  
“Thanks,” said Harry. “It’s just… it’s just a lot… I can’t believe that you did that…”  
  
“The way I see it, I didn’t have a choice,” said Dudley. “It was better for everyone. He was a danger to all of you while he was in the state that he was in. He couldn’t be locked up, because that would raise too many questions on the Muggle end. And he died a strong man, just like I always knew him. He might have believed things that weren’t the truth, but at least he died sure that he was right, and not as the jittering psychotic that I saw that night in the woods.”  
  
Harry nodded. “I won’t tell Petunia,” he said.  
  
“Good,” said Dudley. “I don’t want her to know about any of this. Like I said, this story never leaves this space. I know it, you know it, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley know it, and Mr. Shacklebolt knows it.”  
  
“And Susan?”  
  
“Suze knows that I met up with him that night,” said Dudley. “That he tried to talk me out of marrying her, and that I said no. As far as she knows, that was the end of it. I was already miserable at the wedding after what had happened. I love her too much to have even thought about ruining our wedding day.”  
  
“You put up a good front, though,” Harry said with a smile.  
  
“Well, I felt better about it after a while,” said Dudley. “Besides, nothing quite like seeing Susan in her wedding gown to make me realize I made the right choice in standing up to him.  
  
“Besides,” Dudley continued with a smile, “Another one of the advantages of being where I’m at is that I know there’s something after you die. And that Dad’s there right now. And that hopefully he knows the real truth.”  
  
“That magic is real,” Harry nodded. “That all of this is real.”  
  
“Actually,” Dudley said hesitantly, “I was talking about the truth about you. He… he remembered that magic was real. Even to the end. They couldn’t take that away from him, or else it would contradict Aunt Marge’s memory of Hogwarts.”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened. “What?” he gasped. “Aunt Marge went to _Hogwarts_?”  
  
“No!” Dudley said quickly. “No! Well… technically, yes. They weren’t students there, but both Dad and Aunt Marge visited once. Their cousin was a wizard, and Grandmum and Granddad Dursley dragged them along to some graduation ceremony. That’s how he developed his hatred for magic, and that’s how he met Mum.”  
  
“Aunt Petunia was there, too?” asked Harry. “Because of my mum?”  
  
“Yeah,” said Dudley. “But it was a fucked-up relationship. I don’t even think any of my family knew that that was where they met, since they were both trying to make themselves as invisible as possible. They exchanged addresses, and when they started dating they told my family that they had met at a school social.”  
  
“And Aunt Marge didn’t know any of this?”  
  
“Aunt Marge blocked it out of her memory,” said Dudley. “If she even remembers any of it, she remembered that she hated Cousin Benjy, that she had a miserable time at the ceremony, and that she wanted to leave as soon as she got there. She never made the connection that Mum and Dad met there, never made the connection that Mum’s sister was a witch, and never made the connection that you were a wizard. She was dense that way.”  
  
“If it weren’t Aunt Marge we were talking about,” said Harry, “I wouldn’t believe a word that you just said…”  
  
“Yet there it is,” said Dudley with a sigh.  
  
“Cousin Benjy…” Harry said quietly.  
  
“Mrs. Weasley thinks that it was someone named Benjy Fenwick,” said Dudley. “One of her brother’s friends.”  
  
“It sounds… he sounds familiar,” Harry said.  
  
“ _Benjy Fenwick_ ,” the gruff voice of Alastor Moody echoed through his mind, and Harry saw a gnarled finger pointing to a photograph, “ _he copped it too, we only found bits of him… shift aside there…_ ”  
  
“He was a member of the Order of the Phoenix,” said Harry. “The original group, that is, not the one that I was living with during my fifth year. He was friends with my folks.”  
  
“So Mrs. Weasley’s probably right?”  
  
“I think so,” said Harry. “I might be able to dig up a few photographs of him, if you’re interested.”  
  
“Yeah, definitely!” said Dudley, perking up. “Blimey, that would be cool.”  
  
“I can ask Hagrid, too,” said Harry. “He was working at Hogwarts when your dad’s cousin was going to school there. He’d know for sure who was in my mum and dad’s year.”  
  
“That would be great,” said Dudley, and the two lapsed into silence.  
  
 _The Dursleys knew_ , Harry thought. _And were proud enough of a wizard to attend a ceremony for him at Hogwarts._  
  
He knew that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge were anti-everything, but he was still glad to know that most of the Dursleys would have accepted him and his family, had they been given the opportunity.  
  
“I should go,” said Dudley, looking up towards the snow. “I need to get to Mum.”  
  
“Okay,” said Harry. “Do you want me to come with?”  
  
“No,” said Dudley quietly. “I think it should just be me. If you beat Bill to the Burrow, pick up Suze for me? Tell her where I’m at?”  
  
“Yeah, no problem,” said Harry, reaching into his pockets to feel the jingle of keys. “I parked the van there before I Flooed here.” _It’s a Ford Galaxy_ , he thought. _Not exactly a sports car, but a vehicle’s a vehicle, especially with two, soon to be three, children._ “I’ll try to talk Bill and Fleur out of driving her, since Diagon’s way out of their way. And I’ll let her know where you’re at, in case she wants to come to your mum’s house.”  
  
“Alright,” Dudley nodded. “Cool. Umm… yeah.” He looked down awkwardly at his cousin (Dudley was taller than Harry, not to mention bulkier). “Thanks for listening.”  
  
“Thanks for talking,” said Harry. “Still not used to all of the words coming out of your mouth, but it’s good to hear, despite the circumstances.”  
  
“Right,” said Dudley, slowing down. “I’ll probably be on the plane tomorrow for the funeral, so…”  
  
“Have a safe trip,” said Harry. “And I’m sorry again.”  
  
“Thanks,” said Dudley. “You’re a good person, Harry. I just hope my dad knows it now.”  
  
Harry nodded and patted Dudley on the shoulder. Dudley nodded back and, in quiet assent, the two parted ways, Harry Potter back to the Hog’s Head, Dudley Dursley toward the Floo Station at the end of Hogsmeade Village.  
  
  



	26. Ten years Later: The Financial Diviner

Ten Years Later: 

The Financial Diviner

\---------

Ten years ago, if a Muggle saw another Muggle walking down the street talking to themselves, they would think that the talker was either insane or… well… insane.

 

In the year 2008, most Muggles know better. Just so long as the person has a piece of glowing plastic in their ear, the odds are that the Muggle is speaking on the mobile phone, using Bluetooth or something similar.

 

If they don’t have a piece of glowing plastic in their ear, and if they’re rambling incoherently, they’re _still_ probably insane.

 

Some Muggles, however, would argue that most people are insane, especially the ones that stick the pieces of glowing plastic into their ear, but that’s a discussion for a story that’s not this one.

 

But if a Muggle saw a smartly-dressed businesswoman walking down the street, without a piece of glowing plastic in her ear, talking animatedly to the mirror in her compact cosmetic case, they would probably try to make their way to the other side of the pavement, just to be safe.

 

Wizards and witches, of course, knew better.

 

“We’re not having this conversation _again,_ ” Parvati Patil said to her mirror image as she walked through Diagon Alley.

 

“Oh, come on!” said her twin sister, Padma, speaking to Parvati from the two-way mirror set in her Birmingham office. “Why not?”

 

“Because this is the _fourth_ co-worker you’ve tried to set me up with in the last year!” Parvati replied.

 

“So?”

 

“So I’m not interested!”

 

“But he’s really funny,” Padma insisted. “And… and he’s smart, and he’s well-off.”

 

“Well-off I don’t need,” Parvati said. “I’m making enough money to live my entire life by myself.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Padma said, hesitating, “a little more wouldn’t hurt.”

 

“I don’t need a Sugar Daddy.”

 

“Fine,” Padma said quickly. “But still… give him a chance, would you?”

 

“Look,” Parvati sighed. “If you think he’s so high and mighty, why don’t _you_ go on a date with him?”

 

“Ew.”

 

Parvati paused outside the pastry shop across from her office. “Did you just say ‘ew’?” she asked as she entered after absorbing what she had heard.

 

“No, I didn’t,” Padma said defensively.

 

“Yes, you did,” Parvati said. “Can I have a regular bagel, plain cream cheese, please?” The clerk behind the counter nodded, and Parvati returned her attention to the mirror as he prepared her breakfast. “Why are you trying to hook me up with someone who makes you go ‘ew’?”

 

“He’s just… he’s just not my type, is all.”

 

“We’re twins,” said Parvati. “Aren’t we supposed to have the same type?”

 

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” said Padma. “Besides, he’s a co-worker. I couldn’t date someone I had to work with.”

 

“Seems to be working out with Neville just fine,” said Parvati. “You should take his example.”

 

“Stop trying to hook _me_ up with the guy I’m trying to hook you up with,” Padma said angrily.

 

“The one that makes you go ‘ew’?”

 

“I didn’t mean that…”

 

“So what’s his name, anyway?” 

 

“Peter.”

 

“Thank you,” Parvati said to the clerk, and set down six Sickles on the counter. “Keep the change.”

 

“Thank you, ma’am,” the clerk said with a nod.

 

“So what do you call Mr. Ew anyway?” asked Parvati as she left the pastry shop. “Stinky Pete?”

 

“Of course not!” said Padma. “He smells just fine.”

 

“And what’s his nickname, then?”

 

“Peter Cottontail,” Padma said quietly.

 

“Big ears?”

 

“And bigger buck teeth.”

 

Parvati shook her head. “You’re running out of options, aren’t you?”

 

“Oh, come on,” said Padma, “he’s not that bad…”

 

“How many people in your office have you not tried setting me up with?”

 

“I haven’t tried setting you up with Mr. Thompson!”

 

“Mr. Thompson,” Parvati said. “Your boss.”

 

“Right!”

 

“The eighty-year-old with dentures?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“And a liver spot on his forehead in the shape of a humpback whale?”

 

“See, I’m not trying to hook you up with every available guy.”

 

“Thank goodness for small favors,” Parvati said with a roll of her eyes as she approached the door to her office building. _WENLOCK INVESTMENTS_ was emblazoned above the entry, with _est. 1249_ set below the company’s logo, a twisted amalgamation of a W, an I, and the number 7.

 

“Look, Parvati, you know how it is,” Padma continued as Parvati entered the building. “We’re the only Patil kids. Mum and Dad want grandkids, and I want a niece or a nephew to play with.”

 

“And you can’t have your own children?” asked Parvati. “Because you know I’m not interested.”

 

“Nah,” said Padma. “I just want to be around for the good stuff. Not interested in nappies and waking up at two in the morning to have a kid suck on my tits.”

 

“You know I’m at work now, right?” asked Parvati, glancing around nervously. The entryway was empty, so the only one giving her and her twin sister an uncomfortable look was the portrait of the company’s founder, Bridget Wenlock, a bespectacled witch with wild black hair and earrings in the shape of 7s. Parvati gave her an apologetic shrug before stepping into the elevator.

 

“Sorry,” said Padma as the gate closed and the elevator began to rise. “You’re just my last hope.”

 

“And because of that, I’m tempted to go lesbian, just to make you shut up about it.”

 

“Oooh, you could gay adopt!”

 

“I was being sarcastic,” said Parvati, leaning against the back wall of the elevator. “And is _gay adopt_ even the politically-correct term?”

 

“I hear Luna’s still available,” Padma continued. “Maybe I could try to hook you two up?”

 

“Luna’s in Siberia for the next year,” said Parvati. “And _no_.”

 

“But you’d make such a cute couple!”

 

“What part of ‘I was being sarcastic’ didn’t you get?”

 

“Okay, okay...”

 

“And don’t even make me remind you again that we’re twins,” said Parvati. “If me and Luna make a cute couple, than you and Luna make a cute couple.”

 

“I said okay!” Padma said, clearly uncomfortable with taking as good as she gave.

 

“Anyway, I really should get going,” said Parvati as the elevator gate slid open onto the plain office lobby. “I have a client scheduled bright and early, and I have to prepare.”

 

“Fair enough,” said Padma, who still seemed down that Parvati wasn’t accepting the recommendation of Peter Cottontail. “See you this weekend?”

 

“As always,” said Parvati. “Love you, sis.”

 

“Love you, too,” Padma said, and the mirror went back to showing Parvati’s reflection. Parvati closed the compact and approached the front desk.

 

“Good morning, Miss Patil,” said the receptionist.

 

“Morning, Judy,” said Parvati. “How was your night?”

 

“Not bad,” said Judy. “Same old, you know how it is.”

 

“That I do.”

 

“Your eight o’clock is waiting for you in your office.”

 

“Already?” Parvati said, glancing at her watch. “It’s quarter to.”

 

“He got here early,” said Judy with a shrug. “I thought I’d send him in to wait for you.”

 

“Thank you very much,” Parvati said with a sigh. “I was hoping to talk to Terrence before the client got here.”

 

“Terrence actually isn’t in yet,” said Judy, flipping through the company appointment schedule. “Should I send a memo to you when he arrives?”

 

“No, there’s no need,” said Parvati, looking toward the door to her office. “I won’t be able to interrupt the meeting either way. When he shows, he shows.”

 

“Alright, then,” said Judy. “Oh, before you go. We’re putting in a new supply order this morning. Anything you need stocked up?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Parvati. “I’ll need to check my inventory. When do you need to know by?”

 

“Nine?”

 

“Bloody hell,” Parvati muttered. The meeting would take at least that long. “Okay, off the top of my head I know I’ll need more tea leaves. Umm, some sage. Wishbones.”

 

“Leaves, sage, wishbones,” Judy muttered, scribbling down the notes. “Anything else?”

 

“Hmm,” Parvati said, putting her hand on her hip. “Actually, what the hell? I’m below budget for this quarter. Put me down for an order of Etteilla’s new tarot cards, the 1400 model. Mine are starting to wear out, and _Wizard Financial Weekly_ says these new ones are terribly accurate.”

 

“ _Etteilla model 1400_ ,” Judy said, writing some more. “Sounds nice. Etteilla’s always quality.”

 

“They should last me a few more cycles,” said Parvati, tapping her knuckles on the desk. “Wish me luck.”

 

“Always do,” said Judy, returning to her work as Parvati opened the door to her office.

\---------

Parvati’s initial read of her client, tall, middle-aged, with a hint of gray at his temples, was that he was terribly confused.

 

Parvati supposed that had a lot to do with his surroundings. Compared to the sterile environment of the lobby, Parvati Patil’s plush office, with its silk wall hangings, tasseled cushions instead of chairs, and the smell of incense to cover any of the dozen or so odors that would fill her office during the day, would come as some surprise. Add to that the anachronistic stock ticker in the corner (currently silent, as the market didn’t open until eight), and Parvati could understand why the man would feel like he had entered strange territory.

 

But it was more than that.

 

_This guy’s really new to this_ , Parvati thought. _His aura’s screaming beginner. An impatient beginner at that. Bad combination._

 

“Good morning, Mr. Smithwick,” Parvati said, closing the door behind her. Smithwick, who was pacing back and forth, turned at the sound of her voice.

 

“Um, good morning, Miss…”

 

“Patil. Parvati Patil. I’m one of the two Financial Diviners assigned to your portfolio. Take a seat, please.”

 

Smithwick looked around the room. “There aren’t any chairs.”

 

“The cushions should suffice,” said Parvati. “But, of course, I could conjure a few chairs if it would make you feel more comfortable.”

 

“Oh, no, the pillows should be fine,” said Smithwick. “I don’t want to offend you and your Indian heritage.”

 

_Oh, good_ , Parvati thought with an internal eye roll, _one of those types._

 

“I can assure you, Mr. Smithwick,” Parvati said patiently, “That most Financial Diviners keep a similar office. When you meet with Mr. O’Malley, you’ll find that his office is nearly identical. It’s for practical purposes, as comfort and soft edges help create a stronger Eye.”

 

“An eye, right,” said Smithwick, plopping himself down on one of the cushions. Parvati pulled her wand from the pocket of her business dress robes before sitting down across from him and waving the wand on the wooden surface. A manila folder appeared in front of her and flipped open. 

 

“Okay, Mr. Smithwick,” Parvati said, flipping through the papers. “I’ve studied your initial forms. I have some ideas about what stocks would work well for you when compared to birth order, astrological position, and eye color.” She removed from the stack three pages filled with names of companies. “What we’re here for today is to narrow this list down. To try to figure out what stocks will be best for your portfolio in relation to what you want to get out of them and when.”

 

“Just like Muggle stocks?” asked Smithwick. “My dad was a stockbroker on the LSE. I have some idea about how to trade already.”

 

“In a fashion, yes,” said Parvati. “However, Financial Divining is a more accurate, much more successful analysis of someone’s portfolio. Muggle stockbrokers look merely at future trends, past performance, simple things like that. We go much deeper. I assume you’ve read our brochure?”

 

“Skimmed it over,” said Smithwick nervously.

 

“Excellent,” said Parvati, pulling out a sheet from the bottom of the folder. “Then could I have you sign this please?”

 

“What is it?” Smithwick asked, taking the paper.

 

“Simply legalese,” said Parvati, conjuring a quill and a bottle of ink. “It says that you recognize that our recommendations don’t guarantee success, and that you won’t hold us liable for any losses that your portfolio might accrue over time.”

 

“Losses?” asked Smithwick. “Why would there be losses? Aren’t you all supposed to see the future?”

 

“There is always risk in trading,” Parvati explained. “Wenlock Investments has never claimed that Divination is the answer when trying to find successful companies and stocks. We simply use our findings as tools and guideposts in order to give our customer what they want. The return on investment for portfolios using Financial Diviners is double that of portfolios that go it on their own. But it’s still not 100%.”

 

“Well, maybe I should take my business somewhere that can assure a profitable investment,” Smithwick said with a sniff.

 

“You could,” said Parvati, “But I wouldn’t suggest it. Most of those companies were conjured in the last one or two hundred years. Three times as many have dried up because their Diviners said only what their customers wanted to hear. Guaranteed that their prophecies were one hundred percent accurate, and left most of their clients in financial ruin because of it.

 

“Wenlock has been around for over seven hundred years,” she continued. “We’re one of the most successful companies on the London Galleon Exchange, and are respected from Tokyo to New York because we _don’t_ guarantee success. We just guarantee the highest success rate available, and the best Diviners this side of the Oracles of ancient Greece. Will that do?”

 

Smithwick stared at Parvati in surprise. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, that’ll do.”

 

“Excellent,” said Parvati. “Now, if you could have a cup of tea, we will begin.”

 

“Oh, no, none for me, thanks,” Smithwick said as he signed the contract. “I try to avoid caffeine this early in the morning.”

 

“I insist,” said Parvati, conjuring a kettle and a teacup. “It’s part of the process.”

 

“Process?”

 

“Trying to discover which method of Divination works best with your aura,” said Parvati, pouring a steaming cup. “For the next few weeks, Mr. O’Malley and I will be trying numerous styles during our meetings with you. Once we find one that clicks, it will be the one we go with from this point forward. Reading tea leaves is one of those styles.”

 

“Oh,” said Smithwick bashfully. “Alright. Sorry about that.”

 

“No need to apologize,” said Parvati. “Now, Mr. Smithwick, what do you want out of your portfolio?”

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be able to tell me that?” Smithwick said over his cup.

 

“Of course I can,” said Parvati. “But we like to hear it from the client himself.”

 

“I see…” 

 

“Again, it’s all for risk avoidance,” Parvati explained. “I could read that someone wanted to take a bigger risk to get a bigger reward. But if that stock failed, then he could come back and say that he didn’t want that, and it would be his word against ours. This way, at least, we’ll be on the same page.”

 

“Fair enough, then,” said Smithwick. “It’s my granddaughter.”

 

“Yes?” Parvati said, taking the quill and beginning to write notes.

 

“Yeah, my granddaughter,” Smithwick repeated. “My daughter’s daughter. Just born five months ago. I love my daughter to death; she’s a wonderful girl. But this man that she married… bloody hell, he’s a waste.”

 

“I see,” said Parvati, continuing her notes.

 

“So I’m hoping to find some investments that would give Sally a little bit of a cushion,” Smithwick repeated. “For when Hogwarts comes calling in ten years. I don’t trust her husband to save a single Knut between now and then. He loves his gambling, loves his nights out on the town. But no matter what I say, Sally just won’t listen.”

 

“So you want to be the benevolent father, sweeping in to save the day when it comes time to pick up the books and the broomsticks?”

 

“You could put it that way, yeah.”

 

“Sounds like a decent enough reason,” said Parvati. _Even though your aura’s telling me that you wouldn’t mind a little bit of a windfall in the meantime to add a second story to your house._ But she pushed that out of her mind. Only do what the client requested…

 

“So we’re looking at a ten-year window,” she continued, conjuring an abacus onto the table. “You want something low-risk, with long-term dividends.”

 

“At the least, yeah,” said Smithwick.

 

“And how much are you willing to trust your daughter’s husband?” Parvati asked. “If he’s able to finance your granddaughter’s schooling when the time comes, do you still want to be able to take the full brunt of the bill instead of him?”

 

“Well, I don’t think he’ll be able to…”

 

“Don’t be so sure,” said Parvati. “We’re able to read your immediate family as well. If you’re raising these funds specifically for your grandchild’s welfare, we could certainly recommend something with an even lower risk if the Eye sees future success for your son-in-law.”

 

“You’re saying he’s going to turn his life around?” Smithwick said, perking up.

 

“I can’t say one way or another at this time,” Parvati said, continuing to write notes. “We here at Wenlock try our best to focus on your financial situation, and not our clients’ personal and family lives. The future isn’t set in stone. Giving away too much information, positive or negative, might have an adverse affect on your financial future.”

 

“Oh,” said Smithwick, showing a little disappointment.

 

“If you wish to know more about your personal future, I would suggest one of the many Diviners in Diagon Alley,” Parvati said. “I could recommend one to you, if you’d like, although I must add that their success rate is considerably lower than ours.”

 

“No, no, that’s fine.”

 

“Wonderful,” said Parvati, standing up and walking over to a chest in the corner of her office. “Now, if you could just relax, today we’re going to try a little gastromancy.”

 

“You’re going to study my _farts_?”

 

“Oh, God, no,” said Parvati, opening the chest and digging through the contents. “Gastromancy is divination with a crystal ball.”

 

“Odd name,” said Smithwick, blushing slightly.

 

“Talk to the Greeks,” said Parvati as she pulled her crystal ball from the chest. “Most Divination methods are named after—“

 

As Parvati stood, she felt something smack into the back of her head. Turning around, she found a paper airplane, which had flown in through the open gap above her office door, crumpled on the ground.

 

_Terrence must be in_ , Parvati thought as she picked up the memo, _I told Judy to hold all memos until_ …

 

Then she got a look at what was written.

 

_Parvati Patil_ , the note read,

 

_Please see me in my office immediately. Reschedule all current appointments, as well as any upcoming in the next two hours._

_Gregory Gallen_

_Chief Security Officer_

_Wenlock Investments_

 

“Damn it,” she muttered. _What’s this all about?_

 

“Miss Patil?” asked Smithwick. “Are you going to use the crystal thing?”

 

Parvati looked down at the crystal, which was cradled at her side like a Quidditch player handling a Quaffle.

 

“Unfortunately, no,” said Parvati. “Something’s come up, and we’ll have to reschedule for another day.”

 

“Am I going to be charged for this meeting?”

 

“You’ll have to speak to Judy about that,” said Parvati. “But if you could finish your tea and leave the cup on the table, I'll read the leaves later. Speak to Judy on your way out, and she’ll make a new appointment, and will also give you a notebook. I’d like you to take notes on all of the dreams you have between now and the next meeting.”

 

“More procedure?”

 

“You’d be amazed how accurate oneiromancy can be with the right Object,” Parvati said, putting the crystal ball back in the case. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Smithwick. Have a safe trip home.”

\---------

“Miss Patil,” said Gregory Gallen, a large intimidating wizard, as Parvati entered his office. “Please sit down.”

 

“What’s the situation, Mr. Gallen?” asked Parvati. “You just interrupted an important meeting with a new client.”

 

“You got him to sign the contract, right?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Then you don’t have to worry,” said Gallen, sitting down behind his desk. “He’s legally bound to not go anywhere else without a formal discharge.”

 

“Well, I know that, but…”

 

“Are you aware of any of the recent activities of Mr. Terrence O’Malley?” Gallen asked, opening his own manila folder.

 

Parvati sat at a loss. In the ten years she worked at Wenlock, this is the first time she ever had any official relations with the CSO. _Gets right to it, doesn’t he_? “In what way?”

 

“Has he spoken to you about any recent stock purchases?” Gallen continued. “Financial transactions?”

 

“Well, we share many clients, Mr. Gallen…”

 

“I mean personal stock purchases.”

 

“No, he hasn’t,” said Parvati.

 

“Have you received any stock advice from Mr. O’Malley in the past?”

 

“No, I haven’t,” said Parvati. “I keep all of my investments in bank certificates through Gringotts. I don’t own any stock myself. I know it’s a conflict of interest. What’s going on? Shouldn’t you be speaking to Terrence about all of this?”

 

“Terrence O’Malley is no longer an employee of Wenlock Investments.”

 

Parvati’s eyes widened. “What?”

 

“He was terminated last night,” said Gallen. “He’s currently being investigated by the company and by the Ministry for illicit transactions.”

 

“Illicit transactions like what?” asked Parvati.

 

“Illicit transactions like Microsoft,” said Gallen angrily, reading from the folder. “And Cisco.” 

 

“What are those?” asked Parvati. “I’ve never heard those names on the Galleon Exchange.”

 

“That’s because they’re not on the Galleon Exchange.”

 

“What do you…? Oh, bloody hell.” Parvati said, sitting up. “Those are Muggle companies, aren’t they?”

 

“You catch on quick,” said Gallen. “O’Malley owns stock in more than a dozen Muggle companies under an assumed name. He was placed under arrest in violation of the International Statute of Secrecy, more specifically the Finland Financial Fraud Amendment of 1794.”

 

“Oh, fuck,” Parvati groaned. One of the first things that any witch or wizard learned when studying to be a Financial Diviner was to keep your powers in check. When you’re hired on, you’re working for magical brokerages, buying stock in magical companies and only magical companies. Everyone was on an equal playing field that way, since all investment companies had their own Diviners.

 

Step out into the world of Muggle finances, however, and you find yourself in a boatload of trouble.

 

“What an idiot,” Parvati muttered, rubbing her forehead in frustration.

 

“I agree completely,” said Gallen. “So again I ask: Have you received any stock advice from Mr. O’Malley in the past?”

 

“No, I haven’t.”

 

“Do you own any Muggle stock?” Gallen continued.

 

“No, I don’t.”

 

“Do you have any investments in the Muggle world? Any accounts held in an assumed name?”

 

“No, I don’t!” Parvati said, her temper growing thin. “And I don’t know why I’m being interrogated.”

 

“You’re being interrogated because Mr. O’Malley was your co-worker,” said Gallen. “One of just a few in this company. Your stock history, your criminal history, and your financial history will all be scrutinized by the Ministry, as well as the International Confederation, within the next few months. If anything is found out of line, you will be terminated and held criminally liable by the Wizengamot.”

 

“But I haven’t done anything wrong!”

 

“You probably haven’t,” said Gallen. “However, Miss Patil, I’m just following protocol. If anyone in this company has any connection to O’Malley’s dealings, their punishment will be much harsher if they don’t speak up now. You should take that into consideration before you speak out.”

 

“I am taking it into consideration,” said Parvati through clenched teeth. “But since I haven’t done anything wrong, I don’t have to consider much. Are we through?”

 

“I will give you one last chance to speak freely about any potential wrongdoings, Miss Patil,” said Gallen. “After that, you will be held fully liable for any illegal activity.”

 

“Then we’re through,” said Parvati, angrily storming out of the office.

\---------

 

“Miss Patil?” Judy said as Parvati returned to her office. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Everything’s not okay, Judy,” said Parvati. “When’s my next appointment?”

 

“Not until ten,” said Judy. “I had to reschedule everything until then. Gallen’s orders.”

 

“Oh, lovely,” Parvati moaned. “Hold my owls, will you?”

 

“Of course,” said Judy. “Stupid O’Malley, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” said Parvati as she closed the door to her office. “Stupid O’Malley.”

 

Parvati Patil plopped down on her cushion, then fell back until she lay flat against the floor.

 

_I always loved Divination_ , she thought to herself as she stared at the ceiling. _I might have learned Trelawney’s methods weren’t always the most accurate, her motivations weren’t always the most sincere. But I still loved it._

_What have I gotten myself into? Endless restrictions, endless scrutiny. So many fucking idiots that skirt the line of legality and fairness. All to make themselves and other people rich, no matter how much they deserve it, no matter if they make the world a better place with their wealth or just buy themselves a fancier flying carpet or a bigger diamond ring._

 

“What else is there?” she muttered to herself. “Street corner fortune telling? Palm reading? Wireless Floo-In shows? Parvati Patil, fucking Psychic to the Stars…”

 

_Trelawney had the right idea_ , Parvati thought as she closed her eyes. _She loved the spectacle. Loved to make others fear for their lives by the words that she said. But she had the right idea. Find others. Try to do good._

_Teach._

 

Parvati sighed.

 

_Maybe Sybil’s retiring in the next few years_ …

 


	27. Eleven Years Later: Special Delivery

Eleven Years Later:

Special Delivery

 

\---------

 

“Oh, no,” Hermione groaned as her group crested the hill. “A troll.”

 

“Do you think we can take it?” asked Brad from beside her. “Is everyone ready?”

 

“I’m skilled enough, bub,” said Logan from Hermione’s other side. Hermione rolled her eyes, but decided to not comment on Logan’s cheek. 

 

“Yeah,” said Cray, the rookie of the group. Hermione could hear an edge of nerves in the woman’s voice. “Yeah, I’m ready for this.”

 

“You’d better be,” said Hermione, pulling her wand. “Because it sees us.”

 

Sure enough, the troll had turned their way. Its eyes widened in surprise, and, with a roaring bellow, charged at the quartet.

 

“Brad, Logan, each of you take one side,” said Hermione quickly. “That way it can only attack one of you at a time.”

 

“Thank you so much,” said Brad sarcastically. “Lord knows I’ll be able to avoid the hits like Wolverine over there.”

 

“Says you,” said Logan with a smirk, and the two men charged toward the beast.

 

“You can handle the damage, don’t worry,” said Hermione. “You’re tough. Cray, do you know any slowing spells?”

 

“I think so,” said Cray. “Hang on, let me think…”

 

“Think fast,” said Hermione, circling around outside of the melee, where Brad and Logan were battling the huge beast. She waved her wand, and two fireballs flew at the troll.

 

“Can you try lighting its club on fire?” Logan yelled as he jumped at the troll, climbing up its back and getting in three clawed punches before the monster tossed him twenty yards away.

 

“Oh, shit!” Brad yelled as the behemoth turned its attention toward its closest opponent. “Someone get in here! I don’t think I can handle it myself!”

 

“Cray, use _Stupefy_!” Hermione screamed.

 

“What’s _Stupefy_?” Cray said, standing motionless. “I don’t think I know that one.”

 

“Yeah, what’s _Stupefy_?” asked Logan, who was slowly pushing himself to his feet.

 

_Shit,_ Hermione thought.  _Shouldn’t have said that._  “A stunning spell!” she said as the troll picked Brad up by his neck, his sword falling uselessly to the ground. “Do you know any stunning spells?”

 

“I know a sleep spell?”

 

“Then use it!” Hermione yelled. “My fireballs aren’t having much of an effect.”

 

“Okay, okay!” Cray called back. “Hang on, I’m looking for one!”

 

“Someone do something!” Brad yelled. “I don’t have a lot of energy left!”

 

“Damn it,” Hermione muttered. “Maybe a freeze spell…”

 

She waved her wand, and a burst of white frigid air erupted from its tip. The troll, forgetting about Brad, turned towards Hermione and charged, but as he got close enough for Hermione to see the whites of its eyes, it stopped dead in its tracks. Hermione looked down to see that the beast’s feet were encased in ice. Its upper half, however…

 

“Cray, we could use that sleep spell!” Hermione yelled. “He’s still flailing, we can’t touch him.”

 

“I found it!” Cray yelled. She raised her lute and strummed a short melody. The ogre slowed its swinging. Its eyes drooped, its head fell forward, and it began to snore.

 

“Okay, someone finish it,” Hermione said. 

 

“I’ll do it,” Brad said, but Hermione could see that he was having difficulty standing. He looked around to retrieve his weapon. “Wait,” he said. “Where’s my sword?”

 

“ _My_ sword now, bub!” Logan yelled, flying into the picture. Before anyone could react, he made the kill, stabbing the troll in the back of the neck with Brad’s broadsword. The troll awoke, just long enough to scream in agony before evaporating into a plume of smoke.

 

“What the fuck, Logan?” Brad said. “That was my kill!”

 

“You were too slow, bub,” said Logan.

 

“Yeah, because the troll knocked me for a loop!” Brad replied. “And you used my sword!”

 

“I’m a Rogue,” said Logan. “I can use whatever weaponry I find. We all got the experience, anyway. Good spellcasting, Cray.”

 

“Thanks,” Cray replied. “It took me a while to find that one. I didn’t even know I knew it.”

 

“What’s a _Stupefy_ , Harmony?” Brad asked as they collected their spoils. “I’ve never heard of that spell before.”

 

“Oh, yeah, well,” Hermione said, trying to think quickly. “It’s… it’s my brother-in-law’s thing.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Yeah… umm… he’s… I play Dungeons and Dragons with him sometimes. He’s our DM, and he made up some special spells for one of his campaigns. I guess it sort of stuck.”

 

“Weird name,” said Brad, taking his sword back from Logan.

 

“Yeah, well, he is an odd one,” said Hermione, breathing a sigh of relief that the questions didn’t delve any further.

 

“You play D&D?” Logan asked. “That’s cool.”

 

“Occasionally…”

 

“Where are you from?” Logan continued. “You have an accent. Are you British?”

 

“I don’t like to talk about where I’m from,” said Hermione. “I want to keep some privacy around here.”

 

“Married?”

 

“Is it any of your business?”

 

“Well, you’re kind of cute,” Logan said.

 

Hermione sighed, realizing that she never should have dressed herself in anything quite so skimpy. “Are you hitting on me?”

 

“I just don’t see a lot of women around here, that’s all.”

 

“Hey!” Cray yelled indignantly.

 

“Well, I already read your profile,” Logan said to the rookie. “You’re forty. Too old for me. But Harmony’s age is listed as private, so I’m just asking.”

 

“It’s not _Harmony_ ,” Hermione replied. “And I’m eleven.”

 

Logan stood stock still. “Shit…”

 

And he disappeared.

 

“Pervert,” Brad said. “Probably just looking for a good fuck.”

 

“It’s alright,” said Hermione. “Not my fault that they make every woman in this game look like some big-boobied trollop.” She looked down at her body, with its leather-enclosed D-cups and bare midriff.

 

“Oh, damn, you’re eleven,” said Brad. “I should be watching my language.”

 

“It’s alright,” said Hermione. “I hear worse at school, believe me.”

 

“He was kind of a creep, anyway,” said Cray. “And what’s with all the ‘bub’ talk?”

 

“His username’s Logan616,” said Brad, sheathing his sword. “My guess he’s a big Wolverine fan, and wanted to get the full experience in. Claws and all.”

 

“Asshole should go buy the Marvel MMORPG and leave us alone,” said Hermione with a sigh. “I’m going to report him as soon as I leave.”

 

“No need,” said Brad. “I already did.”

 

“How do you do that, anyway?” asked Cray. “Could you guys send me the instructions? I’m sure he won’t be the last creep I run into.”

 

“Here’s the link to the FAQ,” said Brad.

 

“Thanks,” Cray said. “So your name’s not Harmony?”

 

“No, it’s Her-my-oh-nee,” Hermione said slowly for the five hundredth time in her life.

 

“Oh,” said Cray. “Sounds like _Harmony_ if you say it fast. Especially with your accent.”

 

“Are you from America?”

 

“Kansas City.”

 

“Where’d you get a name like that, anyway?” Brad asked Hermione. “It’s… different.”

 

“I got it from my parents.”

 

“Oh, it’s your real name?” asked Brad. “What’s it mean? Is it English?”

 

“It’s Shakespearean,” said Hermione. “My parents are odd that way.”

 

“ _Caroline!”_

 

“Who was that?” Brad asked.

 

“ _Caroline, come downstairs!”_

 

“That’s my Mum,” Hermione said with a sigh. “ _I’ll be down in a minute!_ ”

 

“I thought you said your name was _Hermione_?” Cray asked. “Why is your Mom calling you _Caroline_?”

 

“It’s… complicated,” said Hermione. “My parents are odd. But, trust me, I’m Hermione. I have to go in a few minutes.”

 

“Do we want to exchange codes?” asked Cray. “For another campaign?”

 

“Yeah, definitely,” said Brad. “We’re going to have to find another fourth, though. I have a friend who’s a Necromancer. He might be able to join up.”

 

“No Necromancers,” said Hermione. “I want to fight the Dark Arts, not take part in them.”

 

“ _Are you playing that stupid game?_ ”

 

“ _No!_ ”

 

“What’s wrong with Necromancers?” asked Brad. “It’s just a game. It’s not like you’re getting into some sort of cult.”

 

“Personal choice,” said Hermione. “I know enough people with enough bad experience with Dark Magic.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“Shit!”

 

\---------

 

Hermione Caroline Granger whipped her head around so quickly that her headphones were nearly pulled from the jack on her computer. She heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

 

“My mum’s coming, I have to go,” she said quickly into the microphone of her headphones. “E-mail me your codes, okay?”

 

“ _No problem_ ,” said Brad_Pitts_Clone through her headphones, the armored Knight on her monitor.

 

“ _Take care_ ,” said CrayolaGrl, the rookie Bard, as Hermione quickly flipped off her computer’s power, pulled herself from her swivel chair, and launched herself onto her bed. 

 

_God, you were an idiot just then,_ she thought to herself, thinking back to the earlier slip of her tongue. Her sister (the _other_ Hermione, Hermione Jean Weasley) would always look nervous whenever Hermione asked her or her brother-in-law about magic. But that didn’t stop Ron from showing Hermione about all of the cool things that could be done with a wand. And it didn’t stop him from telling her about other not-so-cool things that could be done that he couldn’t demonstrate without someone getting hurt.

 

Ever since she started playing those types of video games, World of Warcraft, Everquest, Final Fantasy, she had begun to mentally make the connections between the spells in the game and the spells in the real world.  _Float_ equals _Wingardium Leviosa_.  _Fira_ or _Fireball_ equals _Incendio_.  _Stop_ equals _Petrificus_ _Totalus_.

 

_Muddle, Confuse, Stun_ all equaled _Stupefy_.

 

_At least I was able to cover myself,_ she thought.  _But I’ll have to watch what I say in the future._

 

She grabbed the closest book she could get a hold of ( _The Golden Compass_ , she noticed just peripherally) right as a knock came on her door.

 

“I’ll be down in a minute!” she yelled. “I just have to finish this chapter!” She flipped to a page near the end of a chapter, just in case her mum opened the door to check on her instead of taking her word as answer enough.

 

“Hermione, it’s me!” came a voice that wasn’t her mum. It was a voice that caused her to sit up and for her stomach to flip, just like it always did.

 

“Come in, Ted!” she yelled, and her stomach did another flip as the door opened and Ted Lupin entered.

 

Hermione always wished that she could introduce her best friend to her friends at school. She wondered what kind of reaction he would get from them.  _He’s cute for an eleven-year-old,_ she thought for not the first time. Most witches and wizards might believe that, as a Metamorphmagus, Ted Lupin could easily make himself look however he wanted. For all they knew, he could be some ugly gap-toothed troll beneath the shifting skin.

 

But Hermione knew better. The thatch of hair above his beaming face, now bright yellow, was the only part of him that he ever changed. Sometimes it was involuntary, but more and more Hermione was finding that he was able to control it on his own.

 

But the rest of Ted (to everyone else in the world they were _Teddy_ and _Caroline_ , but within their own world they were _Ted_ and _Hermione_.  _Just the way we should be_ , Hermione thought) never changed. The face that was running towards her, the boy jumping onto her bed next to her, was the same boy that she had been best friends with since they were in diapers.

 

“I got my letter!” Ted said with a huge smile.

 

“Your letter?” Hermione asked, absently tucking a lock of her blond hair behind her ear.

 

“My letter!” Ted repeated. “My invitation to Hogwarts!”

 

“Oh, my God!” said Hermione, bouncing up and down and taking Ted’s hand. “That’s fantastic!”

 

 “I know, it’s great!” said Ted, brandishing the envelope. “I just got it this morning, and I made Gran promise that we’d stop by before we went to Diagon Alley for supplies.”

 

Hermione chuckled. “So that’s why Mum was calling me downstairs,” she said. “If I had known it was you I would have shut down right away.”

 

“What were you playing?” Teddy asked, glancing at Hermione’s computer.

 

“Everquest,” she replied. “It’s not important.”

 

“Did you get your letter yet?” Ted asked.

 

Hermione’s heart sunk. For years, she and Ted had played a continuing game of ‘What If?’ Ted was sure that Hermione was one of them. But now that the rubber met the road…

 

“No,” she said. “Nothing yet.”

 

“Oh,” said Ted, his smile fading. “Well, I just assumed they sent all the letters out on the same day. Yours might not be here for a few days. They might even deliver it personally, since you’re Muggle-born, and who knows how long that will take?”

 

“I doubt it,” Hermione said. “I don’t think I’m going to get one. Mum and Dad signed me up for Headington.”

 

“But… but you’re just a late bloomer!” said Ted. “I bet you plenty of witches and wizards don’t even reveal their abilities until after they’ve already been accepted.”

 

“Yeah,” said Hermione sadly. “I suppose there’s a small chance…”

 

“Sure, you have Muggle parents,” Ted insisted. “But Jean’s a witch. That means you have to be one, too, right?”

 

“It doesn’t work that way,” said Hermione. “I mean, look at Harry. His mum was a witch, but his aunt’s a Muggle. I think it’s just random.”

 

“So… so you’re not a witch?”

 

“I don’t think I am,” said Hermione quietly.

 

“We’re not going to be going to Hogwarts together?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said. She felt her heartstrings tug at the utter disappointment in Ted’s voice.  _I know how he feels,_ she thought. The reasonable part of her mind knew that this day was coming, when she would be deemed forever ordinary. 

 

But there was always some small part of her who had always hoped. Always hoped that the only reason that she had never shown any magical ability was because she had never had the emotional outburst that led to a flare-up. That an owl would land on their windowsill one day with a letter that wasn’t from Jean or Andromeda or the Potters, but from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

 

That she’d be able to spend every day with the boy sitting next to her.

 

“God, this sucks,” Ted said grumpily, falling back onto Hermione’s bed.

 

“How do you think I feel?” asked Hermione. “Headington’s a great school, and all. But it’s a boarding school. They have limits on what you can and can’t bring with you. And it’s an all-girls school.”

 

“What’s wrong with that?” asked Ted. “Boys have cooties, don’t they?”

 

“No, girls have cooties,” said Hermione, a smile coming despite herself. “Boys just have boy germs.”

 

“So you’ll be with a bunch of girls,” said Ted. “That’s not _that_ bad.”                                 

 

“It just means that I won’t have as many people to talk to,” said Hermione.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I don’t know if you noticed,” said Hermione, looking around her room,“but I’m kind of a tomboy.”

 

Ted glanced at her shelf, which was covered with action figures, Lego models, and sci-fi books. Her walls were plastered with posters of Paramore, Bakugan, and LeBron James. “No, you’re not. You’re Hermione. You’re just cool. They’ll figure it out.”

 

Hermione smiled, and as she looked down at Ted, stretched out on her bed, one hand clutching his letter, the other resting on his stomach, his hair now a dark blue ( _it always changes with his mood_ , she thought, realizing that it made him one of the most honest people in the world) the magnitude of this conversation was hitting her for the first time.

 

_I’m barely going to be seeing him anymore._

 

“Put your arm out,” she said.

 

“Why?”

 

“Just do it.”

 

With a confused glance, Ted did what he was asked, putting his arm away from his body. Hermione lay herself down next to him, took his arm, and wrapped it around her shoulder.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked.

 

“Just wanted to be comfortable,” she said, angry with herself for the tears that were so close. “I’m going to miss you…”

 

“I’m going to miss you, too,” said Ted. “But I’ll be home for Christmas and Easter and summer every year.”

 

“I know,” said Hermione. “But we won’t be able to talk on the phone, or talk online. And you won’t be able to send me any owls.”

 

“We’ll figure something out.”

 

“Okay…”

 

“This is weird.”

 

Hermione, whose previous experience with snuggling was when she was little with her mum and dad (except for that one time that baby Hugo had fallen asleep on top of her last Christmas), thought that she had never felt more comfortable in her life. However, she didn’t want to make things awkward…

 

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said, releasing herself from Ted by pushing herself up. “It is weird.”

 

“Sorry…” Ted said, maybe realizing that she was enjoying it.

 

“No, forget it,” Hermione said with a reluctant smile, wiping her eyes. “Let me see your letter.”

 

“You want to read it?”

 

“I’m not getting one of my own,” said Hermione. “I at least want to see what one looks like.”

 

“Okay,” Ted said. Still on his back, he handed the envelope to her. She read the address ( _Mr. T. Lupin_ , the first time she had ever heard her Ted referred to as a _Mr_.), flipped it over to study the broken purple wax seal (an H surrounded by four animals, although she couldn’t make them out because of the break), and opened it.

 

There were two pieces of paper inside. One was a list of school supplies (“You get your own wand. Ted, that’s awesome!” to which Ted could only shrug) while the other was a letter:

 

 

* * *

 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

 

Headmaster: Tiberius Ogden

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock)_

 

 

Dear Mr. Lupin, 

 

   We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find the enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment.

   Term begins on 1September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

 

Yours sincerely,

 

Jana Allentide

Deputy Headmistress

PS: Arrangements have been made for additional lessons in regards to your special hereditary skills. Further details will be explained by your Head of House upon your arrival.

 

* * *

 

“ _Hereditary skills_?” 

 

“My metamorphing,” Ted explained. “Gran says my mum had the same thing when she was going to school. The Ministry has some special metamorphmagus that they send to the school whenever someone like me shows up. Teach me how to control it, how to make the most of it, that sort of thing.”

 

“ _Explained by your Head of House_ ,” Hermione continued. “You already know what House you’re in?”

 

“Nah, I figure all four Heads will know about it.”

 

“I wonder how you get Sorted…”

 

“Who knows?” Ted said.  “No one will tell me. It’s like some secret club. George said that he lost his ear during the Sorting, but Verity smacked him in the back of the head before he got much farther.”

 

“I think it’s really neat, though, the Sorting,” said Hermione, once again feeling a pang of disappointment, of being left behind. “Any idea what house you’re going to be in?”

 

“Just so long as it’s not Slytherin,” said Ted. “I’m hoping to be in Gryffindor. That’s the House that Harry and Ginny were in.”

 

“Yeah, same with Jean and Ron,” said Hermione. “All of Ron and Ginny’s brothers, too, from what I can tell.”

 

“And Neville,” said Ted. “Who I guess I’m going to have to start calling _Professor Longbottom_ now. That’ll be weird…”

 

“Sounds like all the boring ones get into Gryffindor,” Hermione said with a smirk. “Do you know what House your mum and dad were in?”

 

Ted closed his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “No one ever really talks about them around me. Like they’re afraid my feelings are going to get hurt, or something, if I remember that my folks got themselves killed.”

 

Hermione nodded, but felt her heart skip a beat. Ted was right. No one ever talked about his parents around him. He never talked about them, either. Hermione thought back, and realized that this was the first time that the two of them had ever mentioned the death of his parents.

 

“What do you know about them?” Hermione asked, afraid to press on, but wanting to know. Needing to know about her best friend’s past.

 

“Not a lot,” said Ted. “My dad was Remus, he was a werewolf. My mum was Nymphadora, a Metamorphmagus. Dad was friends with Harry’s dad when they were at Hogwarts. That’s how Harry ended up being my godfather. They got married, had me, and went off to die when I was only a month old."

 

The cold edge that had appeared in Ted’s voice, and the ice-blue of his hair, made Hermione almost regret asking the question. But still, she pressed on.

 

“Do you know… Do you know how they died?”

 

“Does it matter?” Ted said, sitting up, and Hermione flinched at the tone of his voice.

 

“Well, maybe it was a good reason…” Hermione insisted.

 

“There was no good reason!” Ted yelled. “They fought when they didn’t need to fight, died when they didn’t have to die, and didn’t care about me when they did it!”   

 

“Teddy…”

 

Ted pushed himself off Hermione’s bed and to his feet. “Look, I have to go,” he said shortly, avoiding Hermione’s eyes. “Gran’s waiting for me.”

 

“Ted, I’m sorry,” said Hermione, standing up with him. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

 

“No, it’s okay,” he said, and Hermione could hear through the ice that he meant what he said. “It’s not your fault. Look, I’ll talk to you later.”

 

“Alright,” said Hermione, and surprised herself for the next week by giving Ted a quick kiss on the cheek. “Don’t be mad, okay?”

 

Ted seemed just as surprised as she was. “I’ll try not to…” he said, rubbing his cheek absently.

 

Before Hermione could say anything else, Ted was out the door and down the stairs.


	28. Eleven Years later: Bedtime Story

  
Author's notes: Teddy wants some answers  


* * *

Eleven Years Later

Bedtime Story 

\---------

 

“Daddy!” came an ear-splitting yell from the drawing room.

 

Ginny gave Harry a sideways glance as they stood over the sink. “Do you want me to go?”

 

Harry glanced down at his arms, which were currently elbow-deep in soapy water. “No, I can go,” he said. “Al called me.”

 

“Pull ‘em,” Ginny said with a smirk, throwing the dishtowel over her shoulder and taking her wand out of her back pocket. Harry held his sudsy arms aloft. “ _Scourgify_.”

 

“Thanks,” he said, wiping his now dry hands on his shirt just to be safe before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

“Don’t go to easy on James if he’s being mean,” said Ginny.

 

“I won’t…”

 

“And if they broke anything, don’t be afraid to leave it broken,” she continued. “My mum didn’t always use _Reparo_ on everything. Made us remember to be careful.”

 

“Yes, dear…” Harry said in mock weariness.

 

“Love you,” Ginny said in matching sarcasm.

 

“Love you, too,” he replied with a wink, leaving the kitchen and walking into drawing room of their home in Wimbourne, Dorset. He didn’t know what to expect; you never do when you have three children constantly calling for either you or your wife. James tended to split his requests evenly. Lily, though still learning, tended to cling to Ginny for comfort. But to Albus Severus Potter, who looked more like his father while his brother and sister carried the Weasley gene, Harry was the one to call whenever trouble arose. 

 

Usually a bump on the head or a toy stolen by his older brother, Albus rarely called for his parents unless there was a big problem. So when Harry saw both he and his brother standing calmly in the middle of the drawing room, Harry couldn’t help but be surprised.

 

“Teddy’s in the fire, Daddy,” Albus said, pointing to the fireplace. Even Lily, who was usually kept in a playpen when her parents couldn’t be watching her (not that she was a danger to herself, but more to protect her from her roughhousing brothers) stood, transfixed, staring at the glowing red hearth.

 

Sure enough, the head of Teddy Lupin was floating in the flames.

 

“Oh, hey, Teddy,” said Harry, kneeling down beside the fire. “Did you call for us?”

 

“No, I let Al do that,” Teddy said, and Harry could see he was still reeling. “Can I come over?”

 

Harry’s brow furrowed in concern. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch, given to him by Molly on his seventeenth birthday. “Eight o’clock,” he said to himself. “Where’s Andromeda?”

 

“She went out for a bit,” said Teddy. “Had to run a few errands.”

 

Harry thought for a few moments. Teddy’s visits were usually planned, even if they were on short notice, and he was only allowed to come over with Andromeda’s permission. Harry and Ginny may be his godparents, but Grandmother Tonks was still his legal guardian.

 

_Oh, what the hell…_

 

“Leave her a note, okay?” said Harry. “That way she knows who to blame.”

 

Harry expected a smile from Teddy at the joke, or some sort of recognition that he was being allowed a little more freedom than he had ever had in the past. Instead, Teddy just nodded. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he said, and disappeared.

 

“Teddy’s coming over?” asked James. “Is he bringing his Game Boy?”

 

“No, I don’t think he is,” said Harry. “He’s just coming to visit, he won’t be here for long.”

 

“He’s not staying?” asked Albus.

 

“Not tonight,” said Harry. “Besides, it’s almost bedtime for all three of you.”

 

“Awww,” said James. “That’s not fair! I want to play with Teddy!”

 

“Yeah, I want to play with Teddy,” Albus mirrored.

 

“You can see him for a little bit,” said Harry as the fireplace blazed back to life, this time burning a bright green as Teddy Lupin stepped out and wiped his feet on the hearthmat before removing his shoes completely.

 

“Hi, Teddy!” said James, running up to the boy ( _not as much a boy anymore_ , Harry thought.  _He’s getting older_ ). Albus followed suit, and Lily even called for him from her play pen.

 

“Hi,” Teddy replied to the three children. “Thanks for letting me come over, Harry.”

 

“Hey, my _casa_ is your _casa_ ,” Harry said with a smile, which once again wasn’t returned. Harry’s smile slipped slightly at Teddy’s mood, but he pressed on. “You eat yet? We have some leftover roast, maybe some rhubarb pie?”

 

“Maybe later,” said Teddy, sitting down on the sofa. “I got my letter today.”

 

“For Hogwarts?”

 

Teddy nodded.

 

“Well, congratulations!” Harry said, his grin returning as he sat down in the chair beside the couch. “Are you excited?”

 

“Yeah, I suppose,” said Teddy with a shrug. “It’s not like I didn’t expect it. But Hermione didn’t get her letter. She’s not going to be going with me. That stinks.”

 

Harry nodded. It’s not as though he expected anything otherwise. Colin and Dennis Creevey were both Muggle-born brothers at Hogwarts, but as far as Harry could tell they were the exception to the rule. A wizard in a Muggle family was as rare as a Squib in a magical one. One in every family’s a shock, two’s a miracle. And when Hermione’s sister Caroline went eleven years without showing anything remotely close to magical ability… well…

 

“She’s going to some all-girl’s school in Oxford,” Teddy continued, and Harry was a little surprised at how hard the boy was taking the news. “She won’t be able to get any owls or anything.”

 

“Well, I’m sure you two will figure something out,” said Harry. “You won’t be the only one who will want to write to her. I’m sure Dan and Charlotte would be more than accommodating to play messenger if you want to send her anything.”

 

“Yeah,” said Teddy sadly. “I guess there’s just stuff that I’d want to write to her that I wouldn’t want her parents to read, is all…”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow.  _Is he saying what I think he’s…?_ Harry pushed it out of his mind. If Teddy wanted to talk about girls, Harry would be here to listen. But when Harry and Ron were eleven, the female species was about as far from their mind as anything, and the last thing that they wanted was to talk to a grownup about them.

 

_The Talk_ would come, and since Teddy probably wouldn’t want to hear it from Andromeda, Harry supposed he would be the one to give it. But that was for another time.

 

Teddy seemed to realize the direction that the conversation was going. “But, yeah, should be okay otherwise,” he said, pushing it back onto its track. “We’re going to buy my wand this weekend, and I guess they’re going to have a tutor brought in to teach me how to be a Metamorphmagus.”

 

“What’s a megamor-- mega--?” Albus stumbled.

 

Teddy turned to the young Potter, and Harry was glad to see a small smile grow on his face as he grabbed his nose and pulled it until it was three inches long. He let go, and it snapped back into place.

 

“Wow,” James breathed.

 

“That’s a Metamorphmagus,” Teddy said to Albus, whose jaw had dropped in amazement. He had gotten used to Teddy’s ever-changing hair color in his almost four years, but any other contortions were new news.

 

“And don’t try that yourself, Al,” said a voice from the corner. “You’ll only hurt your nose.” Harry turned toward the entryway to the drawing room to see that Ginny had finished drying the dishes and had joined them, leaning on the arch.

 

“Mummy!” Lily called, lifting her hands to the sky. Ginny obliged, walking over to the play pen and pulling her daughter into her arms.

 

 “Well, congratulations again,” Harry said, turning back to Teddy. “I want you to start thinking about what you want me and Ginny to get you for a present.”

 

“You don’t have to…” Teddy said, blushing.

 

“I insist,” said Harry. “You want an owl? A cat? Maybe a broom?”

 

“I want a broom!” James yelled.

 

“You’ll get one when you’re older,” said Harry before returning to Teddy. “Not that you’ll be able to use it right away. Brooms are outlawed at Hogwarts for first years.”

 

“Unless you’re on the Quidditch team,” Ginny corrected.

 

“Unless you’re on the Quidditch team,” Harry agreed. “But I wouldn’t get my hopes up. First years rarely make the club. It all depends on what the Head of House says. McGonagall made an exception for me, but that’s not always the case.”

 

Teddy nodded. “What Houses were my parents in?”

 

“Well, your father was in Gryffindor,” said Harry. “He was in the same year as my mum and dad. Your mother was a Hufflepuff.”

 

“She was in the same year as my brother, Charlie,” said Ginny. “Harry, Ron, and Hermione just missed her, she finished her seventh year the spring before they started their first year.”

 

“She was that young?” Teddy asked. “But Gran seems so much older than Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.”

 

Harry and Ginny exchanged a glance. Harry realized how little he had ever spoken about Teddy’s parents. How much he wanted to avoid the reminders, to avoid uncomfortable questions. He could see it in Ginny’s eyes, too.

 

Harry had promised himself that Teddy would grow up knowing his parents. But the thoughts of his own past, of his own discomfort and sadness when hearing of his own parents, often got in the way.

 

_That has to change,_ Harry thought.  _He’s not a child anymore._

 

“She was,” said Ginny. “Tonks, Nymphadora, your mother, was twenty-four when she married Remus. He was thirty-seven. Your Gran’s only seven years older than your dad was. But she’s been through a lot… we all have…”

 

“I understand,” said Teddy quietly. “She lost my mum and my granddad. She aged fast…

 

“How did my parents die?”

 

Harry knew the question was coming. From the look of anxiety he saw on Ginny’s face, she knew it was coming, too. 

 

_He’s so young,_ Harry thought, looking at Teddy’s face.  _We can’t talk about this yet. Didn’t Dumbledore say the same thing about you?_ Harry asked himself.  _Doesn’t he deserve to know?_

 

_Well, what is there to know? You can’t answer that question. No one can._

 

“There’s… there’s really not much to tell,” said Harry. “Your parents both fought in the Second Battle of Hogwarts. If anyone was with them, they’re either gone or in prison. I know almost everyone who was involved, and no one’s claimed to have seen what happened.”

 

“Actually…”

 

Harry turned towards Ginny. Lily was resting on her shoulder, but Ginny looked like Harry remembered her on the Hogwarts steps, the morning after the battle. Like she had been waiting to say something, but was now afraid to say it. Afraid of what might happen next.

 

“Actually, I saw what happened,” she said. “I was there.”

 

“Ginny…”

 

“Teddy?” Ginny said, asking a question that didn’t need to be asked.

 

“I want to know,” said Teddy, and Harry saw the steel in his resolve that he shared with his parents. “I need to know what happened to them.”

 

“Okay,” said Ginny quietly. “Help me put these three to bed. Then we’ll sit down and talk.”

 

“But I don’t want to go to sleep!” James howled. “I want to stay up with Teddy!”

 

“No,” Ginny said firmly. “This isn’t talk for five-year-olds. And it’s definitely not talk for two or three year olds, either.”

 

“But, Teddy…!”

 

“Teddy can help you get ready for sleep,” Ginny said. “Do you think you can do that, Mr. Lupin?”

 

“Sure,” said Teddy. Harry was convinced that Teddy was willing to do a lot of things, so long as he was sure he would get the answers he had been wanting.

 

“I wanna show you my new toys!” James said as he grabbed Teddy’s arm.

 

“No, you’re going to put on your pajamas and climb straight into bed,” said Harry.

 

“But…”

 

“No ‘buts’,” Harry replied. “Teddy will tell me if you’re not cooperating.”

 

“Okay…” James said, downhearted.

 

“You got Albus?” Ginny asked Harry as she carried Lily up the stairs to the bedrooms above.

 

“Yep,” said Harry, who was grateful to see that Albus, despite his wishes to stay with Teddy, was yawning and barely keeping his eyes open.

 

\---------

 

“But I don’t want to go to bed!” said James as he stomped into his bedroom.

 

Teddy rolled his eyes.  _Why did they have to stick me with the crabby one?_ he thought. 

 

“James,” he said softly. “Your parents and I are going to be talking about grown-up stuff. Things you might not want to hear. Things that might give you nightmares.”

 

“I’m not scared…” James replied.

 

_Well, you have one up on me,_ Teddy thought as James took his pajamas out of the dresser and began to change. 

 

Teddy barely knew anything about his parents. Now that he was going to get what he hoped was the truth, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear it. What if they were bad people? What if they had done some stupid things (besides leaving him alone, that is)?

 

_Don’t be an idiot,_ he thought.  _I doubt Ginny would want to tell you what happened if it was going to make you hate them in the end._

 

But still, he doubted… 

 

“Can you tell me what they tell you?” James asked as he crawled into his bed. “Next time you come over, can you tell me?”

 

Teddy sighed and sat down on James’s bed. “How about this?” he said. “When you’re my age, and are ready to go to Hogwarts, I’ll tell you then. Unless your mummy and daddy tell you first.”

 

“But you’re old!” James cried in dismay. “It’ll be forever until they let me go to Hogwarts!”

 

“Not as long as you might think,” said Teddy. “Just pay attention to your mum when she gives you your lessons, and Hogwarts will be writing to you faster than you’d believe.”

 

“Do you get a wand?” James asked.

 

“Yeah,” said Teddy.

 

“Can I use it?”

 

“No,” Teddy chuckled.

 

“How about your broom?”

 

“Not unless your mum and dad say it’s okay…”

 

“But you won’t be coming over anymore?”

 

“I’ll be home for Christmas,” said Teddy. “And for the summers. And Easter, although Jean says that they give us a lot of homework during that week, so I’m not going to promise. But I do promise I’ll write as often as I can. Your dad can read you the letters until you’re able to read them yourself.”

 

“What are you going to name your owl?”

 

Teddy smiled. “I’m sure I’ll come up with a good one…”

 

\---------

 

“Good night, Al,” Harry whispered.

 

“Night, Daddy,” Albus whispered back. Harry made sure that the candle that acted as Albus’s nightlight was lit before closing the door to his younger son’s room. He paused when the door clicked shut, his hand still on the knob. He could hear quiet conversation downstairs in the kitchen, and the clinking of dishes. Ginny and Teddy already put Lily and James to bed ( _Although what are the odds that James is actually asleep yet?_ ) and were most likely putting on tea or breaking out some of the leftovers that the five Potters had eaten for dinner.

 

_She did know,_ Harry thought.  _This whole time, Ginny knew. Ginny saw. Or at least saw more than anyone else that I know of._

 

He knew that Ginny had seen the two of them alive after Tonks had run off that night. She had accidentally mentioned it to him about a year after the battle was over. Part of him had wanted to press. Part of him knew that it would come in its own time.

 

_But eleven years?_  Harry thought that he would be angry that they had been together for so long without this information coming to light.

 

But as he stood in the hallway, he realized what Ginny must have known all along. This story wasn’t for Harry. It was for Teddy. And for Andromeda, although Dromeda liked to speak of her daughter’s fate even less than anyone else Harry knew.

 

_Whatever happened,_ he thought as he walked down the stairs, _Ginny’s been holding it inside her for over ten years. What must that be like?_

 

He entered the kitchen to see Ginny and Teddy sitting at the table. They both had a slice of rhubarb pie in front of them, Teddy’s with a scoop of ice cream, but both plates sat nearly untouched.

 

_They both have their nerves going haywire,_ Harry understood.  _And they’re not the only ones._

 

Ginny turned to Harry. “Al’s asleep?”

 

“As asleep as he will be,” Harry replied.

 

“James, too,” said Teddy, poking at his pie with his fork. “But I wouldn’t be surprised to start hearing footsteps. He wants in on the story.”

 

Harry sighed. “I wouldn’t put it past him. Do we want to use _Muffliato_?”

 

“You can now, if you want,” came a voice from the doorway. Harry and Teddy turned to see Andromeda Tonks standing in the entryway to the kitchen.

 

“Gran!” Teddy said, standing up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

 

“It’s okay,” said Andromeda, walking in. “I read your note. Plus Ginny Flooed me while you were upstairs with James.”

 

“You’re not the only one who’s been wondering what happened,” said Ginny. “Your grandmother deserves to know just as much as you do.”

 

“So you’re not mad?” Teddy asked, warily looking at Andromeda.

 

“I’m not mad,” said Andromeda, sitting down between him and Harry. “But I am wondering why I had to wait so long to hear whatever it is Ginny’s been hiding.”

 

“I’ve been… I’ve been wanting to tell you, Mrs. Tonks,” said Ginny. “I just… I’m just not sure how you’ll feel about me when I’m done. And I’ll understand if you’re angry with me.”

 

“Then I think you should stop apologizing,” said Andromeda. “And get on with what you have to say. How I feel about it, how we feel about it, will come either way.”

 

Ginny nodded, and Harry saw that, once again, she was uncharacteristically anxious. He took her hand, trying to show her that he would love her no matter what. She squeezed it in response, took a deep breath, and turned to Teddy.

 

“What have you been told?” Ginny asked. “About that night?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Teddy.  “Things that my friends told me, or that your family said. That it was the last battle against Voldemort. That Harry, Jean, and Ron had been off all of that year trying to find some sort of magical items to help destroy him, and that the fight happened while they were searching Hogwarts. I know that a lot of people died. My mum and dad. Your brother. Voldemort. Everyone who’s written on the memorial in Hogsmeade. Everyone thought that Harry had died, too, but that he was just faking it, tricking Voldemort into thinking that he had won.”

 

Ginny nodded. “Harry, Ron, and Hermio… and Jean had slipped into Hogwarts during the night. They knew that the last Horcrux, the magical items that they had been searching for, was hidden somewhere in the school. They came in through a back entrance, found a few students in hiding. Neville was one of them. Susan, Seamus, Lavender, the Patil twins. Hannah and Ernie.”

 

“They were hiding from the Death Eaters that had taken over the school, right?” Teddy asked. 

 

“Right,” said Ginny. “After the three of them arrived, Neville sent out a secret signal to me and Luna. We were both away from the school for reasons that… ummm… are a whole other story. So we came to Hogwarts, with other members of…  Teddy, you don’t know about Dumbledore’s Army, do you?”

 

Teddy shook his head. “Another story?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ginny said nervously. “Sorry, I’m just… okay. Okay. Neville sent us a signal, which started a chain that resulted in pretty much everyone coming to Hogwarts to fight the big battle. Your father was part of that group. He had left you and your mother with your grandmother, and came to join the fight.”

 

“But why?” Teddy asked. “Why would he do that?”

 

“For the same reason your mother followed him,” said Andromeda quietly. “I tried to talk her out of leaving. But she wouldn’t listen. She knew that you were safe with me. And they knew that they were fighting for something important. That your world would be worse if Voldemort won, whether they were alive or not. They wanted to do their part.”

 

“I just think it sounds stupid,” Teddy muttered. “If they had loved me, they wouldn’t have left…”

 

“I know it’s easy to feel that way,” Harry said

 

_My father died trying to protect my mother and me, and you reckon he’d tell you to abandon your kid to go on an adventure with us?_

_How – how dare you? This is not about a desire for – for danger or personal glory – how dare you suggest such a –_

 

_I think you’re feeling a bit of a daredevil. You fancy stepping into Sirius’s shoes. I’d never have believed this. The man who taught me to fight Dementors – a coward._

 

_That was different,_ Harry thought.  _They weren’t cowards in the end. So forget about that._

 

“…and I don’t know how to give you a proper answer. But just know that everything your parents did were for your benefit. They knew that they were fighting for you and for your future, and understood the risks, understood that they might not be able to be a part of that future.”

 

Teddy looked down at his hands, which were now folded on the table, his pie pushed aside. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know if I can accept that. Or… I don’t know. But I still want to know how they died.”

 

Ginny nodded. “Like I said, your father came first. The battle had already started, he was already gone, when your mother arrived. I was only sixteen at the time. My mum refused to let me take part in the battle, because I wasn’t of age. Remus convinced her to let me at least stay in the safe haven, the Room of Requirement.  Do you know about that room?”

 

“Ron told me about it,” said Teddy. “It was a room that could become whatever you wanted it to be, right?”

 

“That was where the hideout was for the rebels,” said Ginny. “The students who fought against the Death Eaters during that school year. That was also where the secret passageway to Hogsmeade was hidden. So that’s where your mum showed up. So did Neville’s Gran. Harry, Ron, and… and Jean came back into the room. Your mother and Mrs. Longbottom left after Harry told them what he knew about Neville and your dad. Then Harry told me that they needed to get into… well, into another aspect of the Room of Requirement, if that makes any sense. And that I would have to leave.

 

“I did what he asked because, well… like I said, I was sixteen, my mum wasn’t ready to let me fight, but of course, I wanted to. So I ran up to see what I could do. And your mother was standing in front of one of the windows, throwing spells down on the bad guys below. So I helped her. Harry and the others came back out a few minutes later, ready to re-enter the room.

 

“We talked for a few seconds,” she said quietly. “And that’s when Aberforth Dumbledore showed up…”

 

\---------

 

_“Good girl!” roared a figure running through the door toward them, and Ginny saw Aberforth again, his gray hair flying as he led a small group of students past. “They look like they might be breaching the north battlements, they’ve brought giants of their own!”_

 

_“Have you seen Remus?” Tonks called after him._

 

_“He was dueling Dolohov,” shouted Aberforth, “Haven’t seen him since!”_

 

_“Tonks,” said Ginny, “Tonks, I’m sure he’s okay—“_

 

_But Tonks had run off into the dust after Aberforth._

 

_Ginny turned, helpless, to Harry, Ron, and Hermione._

 

_“They’ll be all right,” said Harry. “Ginny, we’ll be back in a moment, just keep out of the way, keep safe – come on!” he said to Ron and Hermione, and they ran back to the stretch of wall beyond which the Room of Requirement was waiting to do the bidding of the next entrant._

 

_She watched in silence as Harry walked back and forth past the blank wall, his face tight in concentration. On the third pass, the door materialized._

 

_Harry opened the door, stepped inside with Ron and Hermione following._

 

_The door closed._

 

_The door vanished._

 

_And Ginny was alone._

 

_“Oh, God,” Ginny muttered to herself helplessly. She stared at the wall, took a look in the direction that Tonks and Aberforth had run._

 

If I stay here, _she thought,_ I’m in no less danger than anywhere else in the castle. And infinitely more useless.

 

I could follow Harry, but I don’t know what room they’re in. And I definitely don’t want to give him the satisfaction of telling me off again.

 

I could follow Aberforth, but the last thing he needs is another person to order around.

 

_That left only one choice. If Harry wasn’t letting her help, wasn’t letting her be with him, then she’d go to someone who would need help. Someone who was alone._

_“Tonks!” Ginny yelled, running down the hall. “Wait for me!”_

 

_She tried her best to listen for Nymphadora, or Aberforth, or_ anyone _. But everywhere she turned, she heard nothing but the roar of great beasts, the sound of spells connecting with the stone walls of Hogwarts, and the screams of the injured and the dying._

 

_She reached a point where a hall crossed hers, and stopped in the middle. The dust in the air was so thick at this point that she could barely see in any direction. She heard footsteps, and just barely avoided three bodies that ran toward her._

 

_“Luna!” she yelled, grabbing the arm of the pale blonde, who was running towards who-knew-where with Seamus Finnigan and Ernie MacMillan._

 

_“Oh, hello, Ginny,” Luna said, as though they were just meeting in the hall between classes. “How are you?”_

 

_“I could be better,” she said. “Have you seen Tonks?”_

 

_“Tonks?”_

 

_“Nymphadora,” Ginny said, not remembering if the two had ever been introduced. “Professor Lupin’s wife.”_

 

_“Oh, yes,” said Luna. “She passed us, going that way. Was looking for Professor Lupin.”_

 

_“Okay,” said Ginny. “Thanks.”_

 

_“Come with us, Ginny,” said Ernie._

 

_“Yeah,” said Seamus, with the smirk of someone who loved being in the fight. “We’re gonna break some heads.”_

 

_“I need to find Tonks,” Ginny said. “She left Teddy at her mother’s house. I need to make sure she’s okay.”_

 

_“I understand,” said Luna, giving Ginny a quick kiss on the cheek. “Stay safe.”_

 

_“You, too,” said Ginny, giving Luna’s hand a quick squeeze before running in the direction that the trio had just left._

 

Come on, come on, come on, _she repeated to herself as she sprinted down the hall, leaping over fallen suits of armor and fallen black-cloaked figures._ Someone give me something to work with…

 

_“Dora!”_

_Ginny skidded to a halt, throwing her arms out to regain her balance after nearly wiping out on a particularly thick patch of dust._

 

That’ll do.

 

_She turned to her right, down a short flight of steps, to see Lupin and Dolohov, still dueling, just like Aberforth had said. Only this time Dolohov wasn’t the only Death Eater, as another was teaming up against Remus, and two more joined the fray as Tonks ran toward her husband._

 

_“Dora, you’re not supposed to be here!”_

 

_“Shut up and fight, love,” Dora said, throwing her hex into the circle. “We’ll bicker later.”_

 

_Ginny had seen Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks in action before. In the first Battle of Hogwarts, the night Dumbledore died, she saw them fight against the invading Death Eaters. Although Harry never spoke of it, Neville was more than pleased to tell everyone about the battle at the Department of Mysteries, calling them ‘a sight to behold.’_

 

_But eleven years later, sitting at a table with their son, his grandmother, and her husband, Ginny Potter could barely describe what young Ginny Weasley had seen that night. Fighting together, Remus and Nymphadora Lupin were a force. His animal senses, her Auror training, co-existed as one. It was like a dance. Like choreography. They knew how the other moved, where the other was focused. One would kneel while the other spun and took out a Death Eater from the rear. They would fight four Death Eaters back-to-back. They would fight five face-to-face. They would split apart as a sixth arrived, only to come back together again as the number was reduced once again to four. And then three._

 

_Ginny had followed Nymphadora because she wanted to help. But standing at the top of those stairs, listening to Dolohov bellow orders as husband and wife fought silently, she realized the best thing that she could do now was just to duck behind the collapsed pillar beside her and watch._

 

_To join this battle would only worsen the odds. The same would hold true if Merlin himself had entered the fray. They fought on another level that night._

 

_But it still wasn’t enough._

 

_Nymphadora was the first. Ginny couldn’t tell if it was a mistake made on her part, or if it was a momentary slip of Lupin’s attention. Or it could have just been dumb luck on the part of the nameless, faceless Death Eater grunt. Just like a botched play in Quidditch, a death in battle can be blamed on no one and everyone._

 

_All she knew was that a green bolt of energy flew from the wand of the Death Eater. It connected with Dora’s side. She collapsed, bowling over Lupin moments after he had reduced the number of opponents to two. He fell down, her light frame suddenly turned to dead weight on top of him._

 

_Lupin flipped over onto his back and saw who was on top of him. His eyes widened in shock. His mouth hung open. He didn’t see Dolohov behind him, moving in for the kill._

 

_But Ginny did._

 

_“_ Protego! _” she screamed, standing and pointing her wand at Lupin. The air around him wavered like a burst of heat. The green hex ricocheted in mid-air, blasting the head of a stone gargoyle from its body._

 

_The attack brought Remus back to reality. Gripping his wand tightly, he spun around, arching a blue flame from its tip. The flame spread outward, blasting Dolohov out of the window to the grounds below. He was the lucky one, as the blue fire reached the nameless Death Eater, the killer Death Eater, and removed his head cleanly from his body._

 

_Although her unconscious mind would bring the image back to her for years afterwards, she barely registered the decapitated body crumpling to the floor. She was too focused on Remus Lupin, who had fallen to his knees in front of his wife._

 

_“It’s over, Dora,” he whispered. “It’s over. You can wake up now.”_

 

_“Remus…” Ginny breathed, willing herself to travel down the steps._

 

_“It’s over,” Lupin repeated, pressing his hand to Nymphadora’s ribcage, feeling for a heartbeat. “Dora, you don’t have to pretend anymore…”_

 

Pretend?  _Ginny thought. She remembered Tonks telling her and Hermione about the specialized Auror training that she had gone through. About how she could thicken her breastbone, her neck, her wrists, to mask any pulse. To adjust her lungs to require less oxygen, so that she could go ten, maybe twenty minutes without breathing._

 

_To play dead._

 

Don’t fool yourself, _Ginny thought._ She’d be back by now if she were faking it.

 

_“Remus, please…” Ginny said, walking forward and lowering herself to her knees before him. “Professor Lupin…”_

_“I’m Remus John Lupin,” he continued, his voice rising, “son of Jonathan and Rhea, father to Theodore. I met you in the summer of 1995, married you in the summer of 1997 in a small ceremony at Godric’s Hollow, your Patronus is a werewolf and_ you have to wake up!”

 

_“Remus, she’s gone,” Ginny said. Hearing the words in her own ears, she felt as though the air was pressed from her lungs. Nymphadora Lupin, the bright happy klutz who would sit at the table at number twelve and make faces by request (the pig’s snout was always Ginny’s favorite) was now lying on the cold stone floor of Hogwarts, and would never awake._

 

_Remus Lupin collapsed on top of his wife, lifting her lifeless body and pressing his face into it. Ginny knew that tears were flowing down her own face, and she put her hands on Lupin’s shoulders, trying the best that she could…_

 

_But she also knew that it wasn’t over yet… and because the cries of pain, the howlings of grief, weren’t coming from him, Ginny knew that Lupin felt the same way._

 

_“Remus…” she whispered. “Remus, she’s gone. We… we have to…”_

 

Have to do what?  _her rational mind cried out._  What is there to do? What are you supposed to do? Seek revenge? Tell him you both have to keep fighting? Get him killed and make Teddy an orphan? What are you supposed to do?

 

_“Remus, you have to go back,” she said. “Teddy’s at Andromeda’s.  You can’t stay here…”_

 

_Remus lifted his head. His cheeks were dry. His face was set._

 

The time for tears is later, _Ginny saw in his eyes._

 

_“Do you still love him, Ginny?”_

 

_Harry. They were kneeling together over the body of his dead wife, and he was asking her about_ Harry _… And as soon as he asked the question, Ginny knew that was where she needed to be. Who she needed to see more than anyone else in all of this death and chaos. It hit her like a Bludger to the stomach._

 

_“You don’t need to answer,” Remus said. “I can see it in your eyes.”_

 

_He looked back down at Nymphadora, rested his hand on her cheek._

 

_“I asked him to be Teddy’s godfather,” said Remus quietly. “But my son just lost his mother. I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I can’t leave now. Not after this. Her death cannot be meaningless._

 

_“If I don’t make it…”_

 

_“Remus…”_

 

_A huge explosion erupted somewhere in the distance. The building shook with its intensity, and Ginny had to put her hands down to make sure she didn’t topple herself._

_“_ If I don’t make it…” _he said more firmly, taking Ginny’s hand and squeezing it so tightly that it hurt. “If I don’t make it, I know that Harry will be a good father for my son._   _But he will need a mother in his life…”_

 

_He looked into Ginny’s eyes. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with you and Harry,” he said. “I don’t think you even know what’s going to happen. In the end, it doesn’t matter. I just want you to promise me that Teddy will have a wonderful mother in you. Can you promise me that, Ginevra?”_

 

_Ginny didn’t even need to think about it. She nodded. “I promise,” she said. “I promise that he won’t be alone…”_

 

_“I know he won’t,” said Lupin. “But I needed to hear it.”_

 

_Lupin slid his arms beneath Nymphadora’s body, lifted her up, and carried her into the corner._

 

_“You’ll be safe here,” he said quietly, setting her down and kissing her lips. Ginny removed her own jacket and laid it across Dora after Lupin stood again. “I’ll be back soon, my love.”_

 

_Ginny knew that she was close to crying again, but steeled herself._ Tears come later, _she said._ Not now.

 

_“Where’s Harry?” asked Remus. “Ron? Hermione? Have they found what they were looking for?”_

_“The diadem,” Ginny said. “I don’t know. They asked me to leave the Room of Requirement. Switched it, and went back in. That’s where I saw them last.”_

 

_“Then that’s where we’ll go,” said Lupin. “Come on.” Ginny nodded, and followed Lupin as he ran up the stairs._

 

_Ginny was amazed that they hadn’t found any more resistance in their journey to the hallway housing the Room of Requirement. But when they reached the hall, she realized that the massive pile of rubble, the wall blasted inwards, probably had a lot to do with it. She saw arms and legs twisted beneath the fallen stone._

 

_“Oh, God,” she breathed._

 

_“Well, now we know why we didn’t find any Death Eaters,” said Lupin._

 

_“Harry, please don’t be under there,” Ginny gasped. “Please, God, still be alive.”_

 

_“Try the door,” Lupin said. “You see if he’s still inside, I’ll watch your back.”_

 

_Ginny nodded and faced the blank wall._

 

I need to go where Harry is, _she thought,_ I need to go where Harry is…

 

_Back and forth she walked. Back and forth, back and forth. She looked up. No door._

_“Nothing?”_

_Ginny shook her head._ Take me to where the diadem is hidden, _she thought. Back and forth three times again. Still no door._

 

_“Maybe he already found it,” said Lupin. “They’re probably already gone.”_

 

_“They couldn’t go this way,” Ginny said, nodding to the debris. “Unless this happened after they left. We must have missed them.”_

 

_“I concur,” said Lupin, studying a broken wand he picked up by the opposite wall. “They probably left in the direction we came from. Gone down one of the other hallways.”_

 

_Ginny nodded, turning around and running back towards the intersection._

 

_But within moments she was airborne, lifted by her ankle. She raised her head to the floor, now nearly ten feet below, to see a gray blur sweep past her and collide with the wall._

 

_“Are you okay, Ginny?” Lupin called out, and Ginny looked to see that his wand was pointed at her, and she realized that he had used a_ Levicorpus _on her to protect her from…_

 

_“Good move, my boy,” came a snarling voice from beneath her. “You have good reflexes.” Lupin twitched his wand, and Ginny was whisked away, far from the reach of Fenrir Greyback. She landed twenty feet away, but still close enough to hear what was being said._

 

_“Reflexes nothing,” said Lupin. “I could smell you.”_

 

_Fenrir pulled himself to his feet. “Of course you did,” he said.  “You’re one of my brood. Powerful instinct.”_

 

_“Powerful stench, more like. What are you doing here?”_

 

_“Looking for the Potter brat, are you?” Fenrir said. “Heard you and the little bint talking about him. You already missed him.”_

 

_“And why should we believe you?” said Lupin._

 

_“You don’t have to,” said Fenrir with a nasty smirk, wiping blood from his lips. “Little Muggle cunt took me off my dinner. Fuckin’ Four-Eyes knocked me for a loop with her tenpin ball. Then Dolohov pulls me up and tells me that you were the one who knocked him down a peg. I couldn’t resist a little family reunion.”_

 

_“It would take a lot for me to call us ‘family,’ Greyback,” said Lupin, his wand still at the ready._

 

_“Well, such as it is,” said Fenrir. “Been waiting to do something about you for a while, my little traitor. Plus I think I found a better dinner, anyway. The last girl had too much fat on her. This one looks nice and lean…”_

 

_He turned around and stared at Ginny with hungry eyes, his wolf-like tongue flicking out and licking the blood from his lips. Ginny hoped that she never knew whose blood that was. She heard a crack from behind Fenrir, and the werewolf was pulled backwards by his ankles, falling flat on his face. He turned around with a snarl to see Remus glaring at him, his wand raised like he had pulled Fenrir with a bullwhip._

 

_“You don’t look at her like that,” Lupin warned. “_ Ever _.”_

 

_“Well, that’s quite a shame, Lupin,” Fenrir said. “Your bitch isn’t even cold yet and you’ve already found—“_

 

_Fenrir wasn’t allowed to finish that thought. Remus was on top of him, his wand forgotten. The fight that Remus and Dora had waged against Dolohov and the Death Eaters was a dance. This was the opposite._

 

_Tearing. Scratching. Biting. Snarling. Slamming into walls. Beating heads against the marble floor. This wasn’t humanity. It was simply two animals, pretending to be human, trying to kill their opponent. Ripping of the jugular would be a preferred victory for either of them. With their own teeth, if possible._

 

_Ginny kept her wand at the ready, hoping that Remus and Fenrir would release each other long enough for her to get a shot in. She knew what Remus would say: “This isn’t your fight!” But she didn’t care. This was war. War wasn’t fair._   _And Teddy needed Remus Lupin to win._

 

_They were beasts without fangs. Wolves without claws._

 

_But, unfortunately, some animals were still more prepared than others._

 

_Ginny saw the flash of metal. She cried out in warning, but wasn’t sure if any words came out. The blade slashed. Remus cried out. Fenrir stood above him triumphantly, knife stained red to match the color blooming across Lupin’s abdomen._

 

_“NO!” Ginny screamed. Fenrir snapped his head to attention, and Ginny felt sheer panic start to overcome her as he sauntered her way._

 

_“Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood,” Fenrir said in a psychotic sing-song. “You sure are looking good.”_

 

_“Stay… stay back…” she said, raising her wand, knowing that it was useless, that the spells wouldn’t come._

 

_And Fenrir knew that she knew. He smiled and took a step towards her. “You’re everything that a Big Bad Wolf could want…”_

 

_“I said… you don’t look at her…”_

 

_Fenrir turned around. Remus was standing behind him. He held his arm over his cut, and Ginny was terrified to realize that he was doing his best to hold his insides inside._

 

_“You’re in no position to talk,” Fenrir snarled. “I just neutered you, boy.”_

 

_Lupin smiled through the grimace of pain. “This puppy still has some bark left in him…”_

 

_Remus Lupin’s speed would astound Ginny until the day she died. He removed his arm from his wound, reached up, grabbed Fenrir’s collar with his blood-soaked hand. His other hand was raised in a fist._

 

_It drove down._

 

_Fenrir Greyback let out a bestial howl of agony as the fragment of wand, which once belonged to another of Voldemort’s nameless minions before he was buried in a pile of rubble, pierced his eyeball. Lupin released him and dropped to the ground, and Fenrir, his mind blinded by pain, ran off, his hands covering the oozing hole. The dog-like yelping noise he was making would have almost been comical in other situations._

 

_But not now._

 

_“Remus!” Ginny yelled, sprinting towards the fallen Order member._

 

_He looked up at her, his eyes far away. The last bit of exertion seemed to suck the energy out of him. “Ginny…” he whispered, blood pouring from his mouth._

 

_“Remus, I’m here,” Ginny said, falling down beside him. “We’re going to get you help…”_

 

_Lupin shook his head. “Too late…”_

 

_“No!” Ginny cried out, putting her hand behind his neck, pointing her wand at his wound. “No, it’s not too late…_ Episkey _…_ Episkey _…”_

 

_“Don’t forget… your promise…”_

 

_“SOMEBODY!” Ginny screamed into the empty hallway, her throat straining. “SOMEBODY HELP!”_

 

_Lupin grabbed her collar, forcing her to look at him. “Ginny…” he gasped, one eye strangely off-kilter. “Promise me…”_

 

_“I promise!” Ginny said, tears pouring now. “I promise, I promise, please don’t die…”_

 

_“Make sure… Teddy’s happy…”_

 

_“I will… Remus, please…”_

 

_“Don’t worry about…”_

 

_And as Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger made their way into the Shrieking Shack, Remus Lupin died in Ginny Weasley’s arms._

 

_“Nooo…” Ginny moaned in agony, clutching the former Hogwarts professor to her. “No, God, not you too…”_

 

_She looked around helplessly._ Where is everyone? _she thought._ Why isn’t anyone helping?

 

You’re on your own now, _she thought._

 

_No… No, I can’t leave him…_

 

You have to find someone. Someone who can help move…

 

_Don’t…_

Move the body.

 

_“Oh, God,” she moaned, her face red and blotched from her tears. “Oh, God…”_

_But she knew what she had to do. Her mind was having difficulty focusing on it, but she knew what she had to do. She knew that Fenrir had run down the hall, and could be back for more.  He still had one working eye, after all._

_That left one direction: over the rubble. Maybe someone was on the other side…_

 

You can do it, _she thought._ You’re strong. You can do this.

 

_“I can do this,” she said. “I’ll be back for you, Remus. I promise.”_

_She gently lowered Lupin’s body to the floor and pushed herself to her feet. She walked toward the demolished wall and slowly climbed her way over it._

_See? Her rational mind, encouraging to the last, said as she made it to the other side. There has to be people over here. That was easy. Now just go find…_

_Ginny saw something out of the corner of her eye. In a niche in the wall._

_A body._

_With red hair._

_\---------_ __

“And that’s when I found Fred,” Ginny Potter said quietly. “And that’s when I completely lost it.”

 

“Oh, my God,” Harry breathed. Not only to see Tonks and Remus, but to have found her brother where Harry and the others had left him…

 

“How…?” Teddy asked, his eyes wide and red.

 

“He died in the wall collapse,” said Harry. “The three of us, Fred, Percy, were all there when it happened. We had moved the body to a safe place.”

 

“I don’t know how long I was there,” said Ginny, her affixed to her hands, clutched in front of her on the table. “But Percy and Bill found us. Percy had brought him to help move… to help move Fred. Percy helped me, and Bill found Remus. Cleaned him up, sealed the wound because, I don’t know, he didn’t want to cause any more panic by bringing a body in that condition into the Great Hall.”

 

“And my daughter?” Andromeda breathed.

 

“Fleur and Pomona found her,” said Harry. “But they didn’t know what happened.”

 

“And I never told them,” said Ginny, sniffing. “I never told anyone. Your daughter died bravely in battle. Her husband saved my life twice that night. And five minutes later I forgot that they existed. Once I saw Fred… there was nothing else. And I hate myself for it, for forgetting about them. For letting everyone think that they died alone…”

 

“Ginny,” Harry said quietly.

 

“I couldn’t tell anyone,” Ginny continued. “Because… because I know I could have put up a Shield Charm for Tonks, or… or maybe I could have saved Remus if I had only moved faster, or gotten a shot in on Fenrir. I might have hit Remus, sure, but that only would have knocked him out and knocked him clear, so I could get to Fenrir and I know that it wouldn’t matter what I said, or what anyone else would say to me, that I’d know it myself that I could have done better for them… for you…”

 

At this she looked directly into Teddy’s eyes.

 

“They loved you, loved each other, more than life itself,” Ginny said to him. “Everything they did was to make sure you lived in a better world, that you grew up happy…”

 

“I know,” said Teddy.

 

Ginny, Harry, and Andromeda sat in silence, wondering if Teddy had any more to say. His eyes had fallen away from Ginny’s, and were staring blankly at the table.

 

“Teddy…” Ginny said. “Are you…?”

 

“I don’t know,” Teddy said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to take all of this. I… I don’t hate them for what they did that night. I can even understand why they did it. But I don’t know if I agree. Or if I… God, I don’t know…”

 

He rested his elbows on the table, dropped his head into his hands. Ginny and Andromeda both reached out, touching his shoulder. He didn’t pull them away, but he didn’t look up at them, either.

 

“I know it’s a lot…” said Ginny.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” said Teddy. “I wanted to know what happens. Now I know. And I don’t blame you for any of it, Ginny. From what you said, there was nothing else you could have done short of stunning them or petrifying them and carrying them back to the Room of Requirement. And that would have gotten all three of you killed.”

 

“They were good people,” said Harry. “Two of the best I’ve ever had in my life. Your father was the best teacher I ever had. He taught me more about magic than anyone, and I owe my life to him countless times over for that. And your mother was… was just this spark of energy that lit up every room she was in.”

 

“That’s what I’ve gathered,” said Teddy. “I just… I just wish they were here. I wish I knew them better.”

 

“That’s partially our fault,” said Andromeda.  “I… I haven’t been the best grandmother. I’ve been trying to raise you. But I guess I just wasn’t ready, even ten years later, to help you know Nymphadora.”

 

“You’ve done great, all of you,” Teddy said, looking around the table. “And, Ginny, you have to know that you did something right.”

 

“What’s that?” Ginny asked.

 

Teddy grinned sadly. “You’re a great Mum.” 

 

Ginny smiled back through the tears. “That was the easy part,” she said. “Even if Harry and I hadn’t ended up together, it was an easy promise to keep. You’re an easy kid to love.”

 

Ginny reached out. Teddy stood, and the two of them hugged each other tight.

 

“I love you,” Ginny whispered, kissing Teddy on the cheek.

 

“I love you, too,” Teddy replied.

 

Harry glanced over at Andromeda. “So how are you doing?” he asked. “This has to be a lot for you, too.”

 

Andromeda shook her head in wonder. “You didn’t know about this? Any of this?”

 

“Not a word…”

 

“It is a lot,” she said. “But at least now I know. At least now I can move on, knowing that my Nymphadora didn’t suffer. That she went out fighting, protecting what was hers.”

 

Harry nodded. “I suppose that’s all we can really ask for in the end…”

 

“It is,” Andromeda nodded in agreement before standing up. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take my grandson home for the night.”

 

Ginny released Teddy, who looked over at Andromeda and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m ready to head out.”

 

“You and I have some talking to do,” she said, taking his hand. “And I have some photo albums to show you.”

 

“Of Mum and Dad?”

 

“Ones I’ve been keeping hidden away,” Andromeda said sadly. “I haven’t been able to bring myself to pull them out, but now I think I’m ready.”

 

“That would be… that would be cool,” said Teddy.

 

“Good,” Andromeda said with a nod as Ginny took Harry’s hand. “Now, what would you like to see first? Wedding pictures or baby pictures?”

 

Teddy Lupin smiled. 

 

“I want to see everything.”

 


	29. Eleven and a Half Years Later: Unprecedented

  
Author's notes: The headmaster gets his say  


* * *

Eleven and a Half Years Later: 

Unprecedented 

\---------

 

 

Professor Tiberius Ogden pursed his lips.

 

“Hmm…”

 

As Ogden’s fingertips tapped against his desk, Neville Longbottom understood fully why this man was chosen to replace Minerva McGonagall as headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. When in the best of moods, the tall, lanky wizard’s smile, framed by a long salt-and-pepper horseshoe mustache (more salt than there was when Neville started at Hogwarts eight years ago), could brighten anyone’s day.

 

But those steel gray eyes…. When they shone, you felt like the king of the world. But when they bore down on you, studied you through his pince-nez glasses, they made you feel like you were eight years old again. They demanded patience, demanded respect and obedience. And they demanded honesty, a skill that served him well through decades serving on the Wizengamot.

 

Neville was feeling the brunt of those eyes right now, even as they glanced back and forth between himself and Uriela Clavis, who was sitting beside him. He was nearing thirty years old, but he still clutched his hands tightly in his lap, forcing himself to not nervously pick at his robes like a schoolboy in detention. He glanced over to look at her, and saw that she, three years his senior, was biting her lip nervously and adjusting her glasses far too frequently.

 

Of course, the portraits of Hogwarts' previous headmasters all stared down at the couple. That didn’t help ease Neville’s feelings of sitting in the middle of some interrogation.

 

“Well,” Tiberius said eventually, “I must say that this is fairly unprecedented.”

 

“We know, sir,” said Uriela, who had eschewed her normal wardrobe of Muggle jeans and t-shirts in favor of more professional attire and returned her usually color-streaked hair back to its normal black. “That’s why we came to speak to you first. To know if, you know, this would affect our positions here in the school.”

 

“Hmmm,” Tiberius repeated, his lips pursed again. He leaned back in his chair. “Well, I won’t lie to you.  This news isn’t unexpected.” 

 

“But quite welcome,” said the portrait of Albus Dumbledore from behind him. “If, of course,” he corrected quickly, “you wish for my opinion, Tiberius.” 

 

“I might take it into consideration at some point down the line, Albus,” said Ogden. “You have known them both longer than I have. You might have some viewpoints as to whether you believe they can handle this.”

 

“I’ve known them for as long as Dumbledore has,” came a sneering voice from behind Neville. “And if you ask me, they’ll make a mockery of the school. Clavis may have been high in her marks in most classes, except mine. But it still amazed me that Dumbledore made her a prefect, what with her disrespect of Hogwarts' rules and traditions. As for Longbottom, you are no doubt aware of my feelings about McGonagall hiring him in the first place…”

 

“Thank you, Severus, thank you,” Ogden said impatiently. “I’ve heard these views many times, and I will of course be taking them in, as well.”

 

“Of course you will,” Severus Snape said, not believing the current Headmaster’s promise. Neville flushed, wondering just how many horrible things Severus had to say about him. He may have been with Dumbledore, may have been fighting against Voldemort and the Carrows in his seventh year. But that didn’t make Snape’s loathing of him the entire time any easier to swallow.

 

“But, as I was saying,” said Ogden, ignoring the indignant sniff from Snape’s portrait, “this is fairly unprecedented territory, but not unexpected. I’ve actually spoken to the former headmasters many times since you two began your relationship. None of them were able to speak of any instances of, for lack of a better term, inter-office marriage in their time. Am I correct in saying this?” he added, glancing around the walls, where most of the portraits nodded in agreement.

 

Except for one. “Well, we did have one marriage,” said a grayed witch. “Of course, they were both in their seventies and widowed.”

 

“Of course,” said Tiberius with a nod. "Thank you, Dilys.”

 

“I hired a husband and wife as my Potions and Arithmancy professors,” said Phineas Nigellus Black, “They were also at the late stages in their lives, not in the family-bearing years like these two. I personally wouldn’t trust either of them, especially after overhearing what the boy’s former lady friend had said to the Potters about their, um, intimate relations when I visited Grimmauld Place.”

 

_Is he talking about Luna?_ Neville thought, blushing even harder. Sure, she was very open in talking about what she and Neville had done when they were dating. She was probably even more open about it when it was just herself and Ginny speaking in private. If she had known that the portrait hanging in the main hall was listening in… Well, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference in the end. 

 

“Frankly,” Black continued, leaning idly on his pedestal, “I’m afraid allowing a coupling between himself and any other member of Hogwarts staff would be a step towards turning this hallowed school into a house of ill repute.”

 

“ _Ill repute_?” Uriela burst out.

 

“I can understand your concern, Phineas,” said an ancient wizard from one of the more faded and dusty frames, “but a married couple is hardly…”

 

“I would have to agree with Professor Sigma,” said Tiberius, turning back towards the couple. “But Professor Black does raise some valid points.”

 

“Sir,” said Neville, wondering just how their conversation with their Headmaster, their boss, had turned towards his and Uriela’s sex life.  _And you honestly thought that it_ wouldn’t _go this way eventually?_ his rational mind retorted.

 

“Sir,” he continued, “if it’s a question of whether Uriela and I would be able to keep ourselves… well, _restrain_ ourselves during the school year…”

 

“I don’t think it’s a question of that,” Tiberius interrupted. “I know you two have kept yourselves very professional during your courtship.”

 

“You… you do?”

 

“Of course,” said Tiberius. “You’re both grown adults. It would be stupid of me to think that you were both abstinent all of this time. However, I also know that you two have kept it off the grounds. The protection spells aren’t specified to underage wizards, so they would have been activated otherwise.”

 

“Oh,” Neville said with a quick glance at Uriela. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” In addition to the numerous enchantments protecting the school from unwarranted attack and entry, there was one particular charm that kept the students’ sexual behavior in check. While it wasn’t designed to react to any sort of sexual activity (“We’re in a school with a couple hundred hormone bombs,” Jana Allentide chuckled one day in the teachers’ lounge. “If that spell activated every time a student masturbated we’d never be able to sleep.”), it did sound a loud alarm whenever actual sexual intercourse occurred between two students. And, of course, since there were seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds at Hogwarts, the spell covered those over the age of adulthood as well as those below it.

 

Faculty included.

 

If Neville and Uriela ever got into anything during the school year, it was very limited, as they both felt some sort of obligation to keep it clean while on the school grounds. Any actual sex was limited to the rare nights off when they could both travel to Neville’s flat in Hogsmeade.

 

“No, that’s not my concern,” Tiberius continued, standing up, towering over them. “My concern is a family. Children. I’m already aware of your inclinations of favoritism towards some students over others. The first year by the name of Theodore Lupin comes to mind.”

 

“Completely unprofessional,” Snape drawled. “Professors should never view one student as more or less important than another.”

 

“Considering your treatment of Harry,” Neville said sharply towards Severus’s painting, “along with the other Gryffindors, and, well, any student who wasn’t a Slytherin, I don’t exactly trust your opinion, Professor Snape.”

 

“If I recall,” Snape said, “Potter named his second-born after me. My six years of education must have had quite a positive impact on him for me to receive such star treatment.”

 

“Longbottom, stop arguing with the acrylics,” Ogden sighed. “And don’t take this as a complaint about your treatment of Lupin or any other student. I don’t mind professors finding students who they become closer to than others, just so long as they don’t start treating other students any worse because of it.”

 

“Then why did you bring it up?” asked Neville.

 

“Because it’s one thing to have an influence on students,” Tiberius explained. “But it’s quite another to teach and grade your own children in a classroom of their peers. That’s where favoritism might become a problem.”

 

“It won’t be a problem, sir,” said Uriela, taking Neville’s hand. “Neville and I have decided that we’re not having children.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah,” said Neville. “No children. As long as we’re both professors, we wouldn’t be able to raise them.   We’d have to hand them off to relatives or friends to raise and teach. Or they’d have to be raised here in the school.”

 

“Preposterous,” Black muttered.

 

“It would… it would just be unfair for everyone involved,” Neville added.

 

“Besides,” Uriela added with a nervous smile, “We’re teachers. We live with children, eat with children. I personally have all of the kids that I can handle right now.”

 

Tiberius nodded. “And I assume you both are willing to take any necessary precautions?”

 

Neville and Uriela nodded.

 

“Knowing fully well that I might have to sack either or both of you if a family becomes a part of your future plans?” Tiberius said, looking at them over his glasses. “I would agree with Professor Longbottom. If a child is conceived, I refuse to have it live under this roof before it is of age to attend Hogwarts as a student. The nappies alone…” he shuddered.

 

“We’ve actually been discussing permanent contraceptive charms,” said Uriela. “But in the meantime, yes, we will be taking every precaution. You won’t have to worry about a bun in my oven, you have my word.”

 

Tiberius’s lips pursed in thought again, but he nodded in assent. “And the ceremony?” he asked. “When is it to be held?”

 

“This summer,” said Neville. “A week after we get out of here. That way we’ll still be able to get a honeymoon under our belts before we have to attend to the new Muggleborns.”

 

“And I assume I’ll be getting an invitation?” Tiberius asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

“You and the rest of the faculty,” said Uriela with a sigh of relief that Neville matched with a relieved chuckle. They were in the clear.

 

“Very well,” Tiberius said, the cold gray eyes softening, the smile returning. He removed two pieces of parchment from a drawer and placed them on his desk. “We’ll discuss more specifics between now and next September. Living arrangements, class schedules, things of that nature. You two both have patrol duty tonight, correct?”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Neville as the headmaster began writing on one piece of parchment, and then the other.

 

Tiberius took his wand from his desk and tapped both pages. They instantly folded into paper airplanes (a carry-over from Ogden’s time at the Ministry, and “much easier than having students deliver memos,” Dumbledore’s portrait had stated) and floated out the door.

 

“Now you don’t,” said Tiberius, leaning back in his chair. “I just asked Evelyn and Albert to take your posts tonight. I think you both deserve to go down to Hogsmeade and celebrate.”

 

Neville and Uriela looked at each other, their surprised grins matching. “Thank you, sir,” they both said at once, but Ogden shook them off.

 

“Think nothing of it,” he said, standing again. “It’s the least I could do. Congratulations to you both.”

 

“Yes, congratulations,” Albus Dumbledore said, and most of the other portraits, save Black and Snape, echoed his sentiment as Ogden shook both of their hands.

 

“Meeting adjourned?” Neville asked.

 

“Not quite yet, Neville,” said Ogden. “I did want to speak to you quickly before you go out on the town. Uriela, if I could have a moment alone with your fiancé?”

 

“Of course,” said Uriela. “Want me to wait for you, Neville?”

 

“Will it take very long, Tiberius?” Neville asked the headmaster.

 

“No, not very long,” Tiberius said with the shake of his head.

 

“I’ll wait by the gargoyle, then,” Uriela said, giving Neville a bright smile before leaving the office.

 

“What’s this about, sir?” asked Neville. “It’s not about Teddy, is it? Because if there’s any problem…”  
  
”No, no,” said Tiberius with a shake of his head. “Like I stated, I have no problem with your relationship to Theodore Lupin. Your past history with his family and his godparents are too strong to ignore. And I am glad to say that you’re not treating him that much differently than the other students in the actual classroom. His marks aren’t any better or worse than the others, so that’s a testament to your fairness.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Neville said with a smile. “During Christmas and the summer holiday I’m _Neville_ to him, but I make sure that I’m always _Professor Longbottom_ during the school year.”

 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” said Tiberius. “Actually, I wanted to speak to you about a few of your fellow Gryffindors. Ms. Patil Parvati…”

 

“ _Parvati Patil_ , sir,” Neville said.

 

“Oh!” Tiberius said, opening a cabinet set between two of the Headmaster portraits and pulling out a file. “Oh, dear, I’ve been mispronouncing it wrong this whole time. Yes, Ms. _Parvati_ _Patil_. And Mr. Harry Potter.”

 

“Harry?” Neville said with some surprise.

 

“Yes, Harry,” said Tiberius. “I’ve had a few conversations lately. Rubeus mentioned at breakfast about a week or two ago that Harry had once considered applying for a job here at the school, either as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, or creating a new position for the older students to teach a little more offensive magic. A more structured, graded version of Dumbledore’s Army, if you will.”

 

“Yeah, he did mention something like that to me,” said Neville. “That was a while ago, though. Back before he was even married, way before he had kids. Hagrid talked him out of it, though, for pretty much the same reasons Uri and I have for not wanting children. Hogwarts is no place for a parent.”

 

“He did mention that,” Tiberius said. “But I do have to admit that the idea did strike me as… well… educational.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“I spoke to Professor Squall,” said Ogden. “We talked about a possible addition to the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum. Do you think Mr. Potter would have any interest in making a special trip up to Hogwarts as a, um, a guest speaker, if you will?”

 

“A guest speaker?”

 

“Sure,” said Tiberius with a smile. “You all went through a lot in the seven years you attended school here. You, Ron and Hermione Weasley, Ginny Potter, Luna Lovegood. But you can’t pretend that Harry doesn’t have more experience fighting the Dark Arts than anyone else. I think that if he’s still interested in sharing his experiences, sharing his knowledge, with the students of Hogwarts, then we’d be more than happy to accept it.”

 

“And you’re asking me because…?” Neville leaned forward.

 

Tiberius shrugged noncommittally. “Just wondering if you’d be willing to put your feelers out for us,” he said. “See if he’d have any interest before we completely embarrass ourselves by asking The Chosen One to do something he doesn’t wish to do. It’s probably not anything that Calamus would be able to fit into his scheduled classes for this year, anyway. Probably sometime late 2010, early 2011?”

 

“Next school year?” Neville asked. “Sure, why not? Wouldn’t hurt to try. And I think he might be up for it. Any idea what it would involve?”

 

“A lecture, a question and answer session. Maybe he could sit down with Cal, figure out an old DA lesson for the older students, something that’s not currently being covered in his lessons.”

 

“I could probably give some suggestions, as well,” Neville said with a nod. “I ran the DA the year that he was out finding Horcruxes; Ginny, Luna and I came up with a few lessons he didn’t have during his year. But I completely agree, he’s the best of all of us.”

 

“Excellent,” Tiberius smiled. “Well, you’ll keep me up to date on that, and of course let him know that my office is always open. You’ll have to let him in, though, with the changing passwords.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Wonderful.” Tiberius nodded in approval, then looked down at the file. “As for Ms. Patil… you are aware that she applied for the vacancy in Divination for next September, correct?”

 

Neville nodded. Sybil Trelawney announced at the beginning of the year that she would be stepping down and moving on “to wherever the Eye will take me.”

 

“She was one of many, _many_ qualified candidates to fill the position. Between you and me,” at this he leaned in, “I think we had such a large turnout because they knew that if Hogwarts hired Sybil, they’d hire anyone.”

 

“Now, Tiberius,” Dumbledore said as Neville snorted laughter. “The woman had many true predictions. And you know why I hired her on.”

 

“Of course, Albus, I’m sorry,” said Tiberius. “But looking into the records of many of these candidates, their records show more overall hits than Sybil ever had when it came to accuracy of prediction.”

 

“So how’d Parvati do?” asked Neville.

 

“Well, unfortunately, we couldn’t hire her.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“She was extremely qualified,” said Tiberius. “And would have made a great addition to our staff in any other circumstance. But we’re hiring someone by the name of Kelly Skryer. Just as much talent as your friend Parvati has, but with two decades more educational experience to boot. We couldn’t say no.”

 

“And why are you telling me this?” asked Neville. “Want me to talk to Parvati, too? Tell her you weren’t interested? Cuz I don’t think the bruises would ever heal.”

 

“We’ve already told her,” said Tiberius. “We sent the owls out today to all of the finalists who didn’t get the job. Actually, I wanted to let you in on another position, and you can let her know.”

 

“And what position is that?”

 

“Beauxbatons,” said Tiberius. “Madame Maxime tells me that they’re looking for a Divination professor of their own. Now, I’m trying to keep things as fair and honest as possible, so a direct reference from the Headmaster of Hogwarts might be a little too much. But Beauxbatons’s Divination program focuses on many more aspects of Divination than we do here at Hogwarts. They even offer a Business Divination course for older students. And since Ms. Patil was the second-best candidate for our position, I think she would be perfect for that job.”

 

“But you don’t want to mention it to her directly,” said Neville with a smirk. “Or else it would look to the other candidates that you were giving preferential treatment, offering her a position that she didn’t apply for…”

 

“So I figure you might just want to mention it to her,” said Tiberius with a wink. “If she has any interest in moving to southern France, of course. And you didn’t hear it from me. Or from Madame Maxime.”

 

“Wink wink nudge nudge,” Neville chuckled. “Say no more. If anyone asks, I’ll just say that Fleur dropped it in conversation.”

 

“Always thinking on your feet,” said Ogden with a slap on the desk, “just like a Hogwarts professor should. So, is there anything else?”

 

“I don’t believe so, sir, no.”

 

“Good,” said Tiberius, who stood up and offered his hand. “Congratulations again.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Neville said with a smile.

 

“Go,” Tiberius said, waving Neville towards the door. “Get pissed, get happy, get …whatever. It’s a Friday, I don’t want to see you and Uri again until dinner tomorrow night, are we clear?”

 

“Thank you!”

 

“You’d better enjoy it,” said Tiberius with a smirk, “because I told Albert and Evelyn you’re taking their next two shifts in exchange.”

 

Neville laughed. “I think I’ll take that trade.”

 

“Excellent,” said Tiberius, patting Neville on the back as he walked to the office door. “We’ll make the formal announcement to the school when you come back. Unless you two want to keep it quiet, I think something this historic should be shouted from the rooftops.”

 

“Hear, hear!” shouted Albus and a few more of the portraits as the door closed behind him. He climbed down the spiraling stone steps and was met at the bottom by a pair of lips.

 

“Hi,” he said with a smile as Uriela pulled away a few seconds later.

 

“Hi,” Uriela said with a besotted grin, her arms around his neck, his around her waist. “Thankfully that was you and not Tiberius, or this would be _really_ awkward.”

 

“A little bit, yeah,” said Neville. “Well, he’s done with us, so we can go.”

 

“What did he want to talk to you about?” she asked as they reluctantly separated and walked down the hall towards Uriela’s office.

 

“Business,” said Neville. “I’ll tell you later. But what do we want to do? We have until dinner tomorrow night. Should I send out some owls? Get a party together?”

 

\---------

 

Two hours later, as the moon rose over Neville’s flat in Hogsmeade village, Uriela Clavis collapsed on top of him.

 

“So,” Neville said, panting, as he rubbed Uriela’s bare back, “Aren’t you glad I talked you out of getting a party together?”

 

Uriela snorted as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Last time I checked, love, I was the one who talked you out of it.”

 

“Oh, yeah…” Neville said. “Well, in my defense, you didn’t talk me out of it so much as you shoved your tongue down my throat as soon as we got to your office.”

 

“An effective tactic in any debate,” Uriela smiled.

 

“You definitely left me speechless.”

 

“Besides,” she continued, “it’s almost eleven, and we have far too many parents in our circle of friends. It would have been such a small gathering it wouldn’t have been worth it. If you want to send an owl or two out later, I’m sure we could slip a breakfast or tea in somewhere.”

 

“Yeah, I guess,” said Neville as he ran his fingers through her sweaty hair, which she ran her wand through after their meeting with Ogden. Green and blue were now streaked through her short dark hair. “Now that I think about it, I guess there’s really no one left to have a drink with. Dean, I suppose. Seamus and Lavender…”

 

“Patil,” said Uriela. “Not for much longer, though. You _are_ going to let her know about that job opening, right?”

 

“Oh, of course,” said Neville. “She’ll go bonkers when she hears about it. It’s right up her alley. And she already speaks a little French.”

 

“Cool,” said Uriela. “Yeah, your list is even longer than mine. My circle’s pretty small to begin with. I suppose Stacy would want to come out and celebrate. Everyone else is already hitched up, though, with their own diaper bags at home.”

 

Neville sighed. “We’re getting too old…”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Uriela teased, pushing herself up onto her hands. “You know how many ‘cradle-robbing’ jokes I’ve had to endure because of you?”

 

“I can only imagine…”

 

“The wedding shower’s going to be interesting,” said Uriela. “My friends have a nasty sense of humor sometimes.”

 

“Well, you can donate all of those extra booties and teething nooks to charity,” said Neville with a smirk.

 

“I just tell them I like them young and virile,” said Uriela. “That usually shuts them right up.”

 

“Virile, huh?” said Neville, pulling her down for a kiss.

 

“Mmmm,” Uriela moaned as his hand caressed her breast. “Considering what I’m feeling down below,” Neville gasped as she gave him a quick squeeze with her muscles, “I’d think _virile_ ’s the right word.”

 

“Virile’s an option,” said Neville as she started to move up and down on him. “Happy… giddy… randy…”

 

“Valid, valid, valid,” said Uriela, whose voice was growing breathier by the moment. “So you want to get together with everyone tomorrow?”

 

“Sure…”

 

“And we’re being formally introduced to the school tomorrow night?”

 

“That’s what Ogden has planned.”

 

“So we don’t have to hide it anymore…”

 

“Not at all.”

 

“Good,” Uriela said, stopping suddenly and grabbing her wand from the nightstand, knocking her glasses to the floor in the process. “ _Accio_.”

 

Uriela’s jean shorts, which she had been wearing beneath her robes during their discussion with the headmaster, and which were now crumpled on the floor along with the rest of their clothing, sprung to life and flew up to her outstretched hand. She put her wand down and dug around in her pockets.

 

“I’ve felt naked all day,” she said as she searched.

 

“You know you _are_ naked, right?” Neville said with a smile, sitting up. “It’s not just a drafty bedroom.”

 

“Ah!” she squeaked, pulling her hand out of her pocket. “That’s better.”

 

“Nope,” Neville said as Uriela slipped her engagement ring on her finger. “You’re still naked.”

 

“And for someone who’s in the position that they’re in, you sure are complaining about it a lot.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Neville said with a dramatic sigh. “I guess my position will have to change.”

 

And he pushed her onto her back. Uriela burst into laughter as she landed, nearly bouncing off the bed, but he stopped her by climbing on top of her.

 

“Better?” she said through her chuckles.

 

“Much.”

 

“Definitely much,” said Uriela, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too,” Neville replied.

 

And he did.

 


	30. Twelve Years Later: The Sankuru Serpent

Twelve Years Later: 

The Sankuru Serpent

 

\---------

 

_Hello, Neville,_

 

_I apologize for not replying to your letter right away. I received your correspondence five days ago, but I was unable to find the proper time or privacy to write back to you until now. I hope your owl returned to you safely and is not interrupting your honeymoon in Ireland. She was a very beautiful Papuan Hawk Owl, but I did not recognize her specifically; is she a new Hogwarts owl, or have you purchased another owl since I saw you last? Did Conifer die?_

 

_Actually, he is most likely sending out other letters, as I would not think that I am the only one to whom you are writing. Please disregard my last question. How is Conifer doing?_

 

_Congratulations again on your wedding. I deeply wish that I could have attended. But, as you know, I am in Africa at this time and could not attend. I will tell you more about my journey later in my letter. Was it a large wedding? I believe that you and Uriela would not be the type of people who would have a large wedding, but I could be mistaken in that regard. I slept that night with a Valerian root beneath my pillow in the hopes that it would make you realize that I was thinking about you both and that I wished I were there sharing in your joy. I hope that it worked._

 

_Please tell me as much as you wish to say about the wedding, the reception, and the honeymoon. I will also be sending letters to Ginny, Harry, and Hermione and asking them about their feelings regarding the festivities. Different perspectives on one event can yield much more satisfying results, and can create a clearer picture for me to treasure._

 

_Also, if you have any photographs you can part with, I would be most grateful._

 

_We are currently camped on Lake Mweru, one of the many sources that eventually become the Congo River. My father is currently in a nearby wizarding village, searching for information about the Sankuru Serpent. An extremely rare reptile, its colors shift between dazzling blue and deep red depending on a currently uncalculated combination of external temperature, ultraviolet exposure, and fiber content in its diet. Its venom can kill a troll in five minutes, but if enough people sing the correct native chant to it, the Serpent then synthesizes the venom into a serum that effectively cures both athletes’ foot and genital warts._

 

_I am sure you have been made aware of this amazing creature at some point in the past, but I know that you have difficulty remembering many creatures that exist in the world. I hope you are not offended if I explained details that you already knew._

 

_The egg-laying cycle of the Sankuru Serpent only comes once every fourteen lunar cycles, and the location of the incubation alternates in an unknown pattern along the Congo River. Our hopes are to find the Serpent during its incubation period in order to study and document it. Also, we currently have enough diversity in our expedition to create an eight-part harmony if we decide to study some of the Serpent’s serum._

 

_I am second soprano, and my father’s voice is a lovely first tenor. Our baritone may need more practice, but we are confident that he will be able to come through when needed._

 

_As I stated, it is our hope to find the Sankuru Serpent in its natural habitat. However, we have found many difficulties throughout our journey in Africa. The animals have been nothing but generous to us. Of course, there was the one time Achilles, our second tenor, was driven close to insanity by a nearby Fwooper. We of course were able to cast a Silencing Charm in time, and Gavin is doing much better, and is quite grateful to the Fwooper for allowing him the experience._

_Most of the difficulties surrounding this trip deal with the Muggles in the region. There is apparently a civil war that has been fought in this region for quite some time now. We have heard small explosions in the distance on many occasions, and have even been threatened on occasion by some local Muggles and their riffles, which I guess make those explosions, and shoot small metal projectiles to injure animals or other Muggles. Quite irritating, if you ask me, but nothing that a simple Shield Charm could not stop. Muggles are quite a fascinating species. Do you think Dudley, Petunia, or the Grangers would mind if I wrote them with some more questions? The wizards and witches in this area try their best to keep a distance from the Muggle population, but we have had to use more Memory Charms in this area than we have in any other region._

_The magical people in this region are not much better than the Muggles. They have their own skirmishes, which I have been told have been going on for many centuries now. Nothing very terrifying, just the occasional battle over territory popping up every couple decades._

_Their disregard for the creatures in this region saddens me. In one instance, we found a dozen skinned Tebos, killed for their hides and left for other animals to scavenge. I can understand that their skins are used to make Invisibility Cloaks and Shielded clothing. It depresses me greatly that these noble warthogs would be treated with such disrespect. I can only imagine the numbers that were required to hunt these beasts down, and I would believe that all of the effort is somewhat of a waste if the hides only do what a simple Disillusionment Charm could accomplish._

_But I am getting myself emotional. There are so many fascinating creatures in this region that I only wish the people who live here would appreciate them as much as we do._

 

 

Luna Lovegood reached to her ear and absently brushed back hair that did not exist anymore. Two months ago, her pale blonde hair had grown down to past her waist. However, after a run-in with a particularly nasty specimen of Serbian Snarevine, she decided that it might serve her and her scalp better to not carry around as much as she had been while in the wild.

 

Two days and a series of Diffindo spells later, Luna found herself with a haircut that could best be described as a wizard cut: short in the back, hair on the sides barely reaching the ears. Her father thought it was quite unlike her (Luna believed he was not comfortable with the idea of having longer hair than his daughter), but Milinka, a Serbian witch about Luna’s age that had accompanied their expedition, thought that Luna looked quite fetching with her new style, and Luna took her word as well as her father’s.

 

Of course, Milinka and Luna considered themselves dating, if “dating” was even possible when two people traveled with one another constantly and had difficulty separating the “seeing each other” time from the “not seeing each other” time. And Milinka had given the compliment while they were in bed with one another, and seemed to have been looking at Luna’s body more than her hair. But Luna took the compliment quite well, nonetheless.

 

It was Milinka who opened the flap to Luna’s tent and poked her head in. After their time in Eastern Europe, Luna was quite pleased that Milinka had grown attached to the natural world and had decided to join her on the expedition. She was a first soprano, as well, which was nothing but frosting on the cake, as far as Luna was concerned.

 

“Hello, Luna.”

 

“Hello, Milinka,” Luna replied with a small smile. Her owl hooted softly on the perch beside her.

 

“Your father is come back,” Milinka, a short brunette with blue eyes and a mole on her right cheek, said as she returned Luna’s smile with one even more radiant. “He speaks to you.”

 

“Okay,” said Luna. Milinka was picking up the English language slowly, but still quite a ways from perfection. Luna didn’t mind, though. Words were only one of many ways to communicate, after all. “Tell him I will be out in ten minutes,” she replied, holding up ten fingers. “I must finish writing this letter first.” She pointed to the parchment and mimed writing with her quill.

 

“Yes,” said Milinka with a nod. “I will speak him.”

 

“Thank you,” said Luna, and Milinka closed the tent flap. Luna looked down at the parchment, re-read it to regain her train of conversation, and then dipped the quill.

 

 

 

_I cannot write much more. My father has just returned from the village, and that means we will be striking camp and setting off down the river tonight._

_I wish to again reiterate my congratulations on your marriage to Uriela. I believed that there was something special between you two when we ended our relationship three years ago, and  am pleased to see the proof of this belief._

_As for a wedding gift, I am hoping to find a Mincks at some time between now and when I return to England next summer. I saved some of my hair from a recent haircut (my girlfriend thinks it looks very nice, I believe I will keep it at this length when I return so you can see it then) and am hoping to feed it to the Mincks in exchange for some of its fecal matter. I have been told that the feces of the Mincks give a human male increased sexual stamina and endurance, which you and Uriela might like._

_Do not be offended. Your stamina did not give me any worry when you and I were having sex. In fact, when compared to the three men I have slept with since we dated, you came ahead as the longest-lasting of the three. I simply think that there is no such thing as too much stamina, and that Uriela would be quite pleased by you._

_However, if I cannot find a Mincks, I can always send you something else. Would you like a candelabra?_

_Before I end this letter, I was wondering if you or Uriela would be offended if I began to send her correspondence. After you and I ended our romantic relationship, I was not able to speak to her or get to know her as well as I would have liked. If she is uncomfortable with this, I would understand.   I have heard that some witches or wizards become uncomfortable when their spouse develops a rapport with a former lover._

_But if she is comfortable with me, I would like to get to know more about her._

_Please give my love to Uriela, and your grandmother, and Harry, and Ginny, and Hermione, and Ron, and Dean, and Seamus, and Parvati, and Lavender, and Padma, and Hannah, and Ernie, and Teddy, and Justin, and Hagrid, and Nearly-Headless Nick, and Aurora, and Bill, and Fleur, and Hermione Caroline, and Arthur, and Molly, and…_

_I know I am leaving many people out, including all of the children. But I am running out of space on my parchment._

_Love always,_

_Luna_

 

Luna nodded in contentment as she skimmed over the letter.

 

“Give me your leg, Gulliver,” she said to her owl. Gulliver Pokeby, named after the wizard author of the same name, hopped down from his perch.

 

“I wish for you to take this to Neville and Uriela Longbottom,” she said. “They may still be in Ireland right now. But if not they will either be at Hogwarts or at their flat in Hogsmeade.”

 

Gulliver hooted in assent as Luna gently tied the parchment around his leg. He then hopped onto her arm, and together they walked out of the tent and into the afternoon sun.

 

“Keep yourself safe, Gulliver Pokeby,” she whispered. “Don’t let anyone shoot their riffles at you. Do you want me to give you a Disillusionment Charm?”

 

Gulliver hooted.

 

“Okay, if you say so,” Luna said. “Fly safe.”

 

The owl hooted again, and took to the air in a flourish of feathers. Luna continued to keep her eye on Gulliver until he flew over the river’s shoreline, where four small boats were resting, and disappeared over the northwestern horizon. Luna then turned back to the camp.

 

“Hello, Father,” she said as she walked to the mess tent, a pitched tarp with the sides open to the wind. Xenophilius Lovegood sat at the table, along with Milinka and three other members of the expedition. The table itself was covered haphazardly with charts, maps, and various pieces of equipment that would have looked odd to all but a few.

 

“Hello, love,” said Xeno with a broad grin. Luna’s father had aged ten years in the few months that she was held captive at Malfoy Manor. In the twelve years since then, he had been fighting a losing battle getting those years back, and even his bright smile appeared much wearier than it would have in the past.

 

Luna supposed that she was partially to blame for this. Ever since they were reunited, her father found it very difficult to let her go off on her own for any length of time. The more she tried to develop some independence, the more nervous and anxious her father became. One year short of thirty years old, she knew that she would have to sit down with him eventually and talk to him about the course of their lives, especially if she found someone between now and then that she would want to spend the rest of her life with. 

 

Perhaps she should start to find a companion for Xenophilius. He loved her mother dearly, and Luna loved her as well, more than anyone she had ever loved. But she also knew that her mother would not want her husband to be without a new love for the rest of his life. 

 

But for now she was content with him by her side, as they both shared the common interest in The Search. Anything else would come when it came.

 

“Did you get the information you were looking for?” Luna asked, sitting down across from her father and beside Milinka, who took her hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

 

“Oh, yes!” Xenophilius exclaimed, moving aside the alphona, a device shaped like an oblong teapot used to detect psychic impulses in reptiles, and spreading out a hand-drawn map. “Yes, the head witch of the village insists that the Serpent will be appearing here, at this he pointed to a location about a quarter of the way down the river.". 

 

“And it will be tonight?” Luna asked as Milinka and the others leaned in to look at the map.

 

“Yes, it will,” said Xenophilius, his grin widening. “We’ve been extremely lucky, my dear. If we leave now we should be able to get there with ample time to see this rare spectacle.”

 

“That sounds lovely,” said Luna. “But we should be packing immediately, should we not?”

 

“I agree,” said Xenophilius. “Right, then. Everybody!” he called out loudly. “We… must… pack!” He waved his arms around in a circle, and then closed it tight, miming the lid of a box.

 

The rest of the members of the expedition, very few of whom spoke any English, nodded in semi-understanding.

 

“Make sure you take whatever you need,” said Luna. “Once the tents are packed you won’t have access to anything inside of them until tonight.”

 

Taking her own advice, she ducked back into the tent she shared with Milinka, who followed close behind.

 

“Do you have everything you need?” Luna asked the Serbian woman as she scanned the magically-enhanced structure.

 

“Yes, very much,” she replied, hiking her backpack onto her shoulders and removing her wide-brimmed hat from the hat rack. “Are you happy?”

 

“Very happy, yes,” said Luna, smiling softly as she picked up her own backpack. “I’m very excited. It will be nice if we actually get to see it.”

 

“We will,” said Milinka as she refilled her bottle at the water faucet. “You are lucky that way.”

 

“I don’t think that I am lucky,” said Luna, who stepped up beside her. “But it’s nice of you to say. Thank you.”

 

“We go now?”

 

“In just a moment,” said Luna, putting her own bottle under the faucet after Milinka filled hers. Luna then turned her girlfriend around and attached the bottle to her backpack.

 

“You want a kiss for luck?” Milinka asked with a naughty grin after she did the same with Luna’s pack.

 

“I think a kiss would be very nice.”

 

The two embraced, somewhat awkwardly with backpacks on their backs. Thirty seconds of wrestling later, their tongues untied, their lips separated, their hands removed from different places, they continued to hold each other.

 

“Tonight?” Milinka asked, breathing heavily.

 

“Tonight would be lovely,” said Luna, gazing into her striking blue eyes.

 

“Tonight,” Milinka repeated, and the two sighed in contented frustration as they separated and left the tent.

 

“Have everything, dear?” Xenophilius asked.

 

“We do now,” said Luna, turning around and waving her wand at the tent, which imploded into a tight bundle.

 

“You know,” Xenophilius said as he struck the mess tent, “I still believe that you should have asked your friend Harry to come along with us.”

 

“I know, Father,” said Luna.

 

“Did you even try? This is very important work, you know.”

 

“Yes, Father,” Luna said, as patiently as possible.. “And he knows it, too. But he would not want to leave his family, I am sure of it.” 

 

Xeno sighed. “Yes, I suppose the children are too young to bring with. But even still, if one of us is off-key, this entire journey could be ruined.”

 

“I know that,” said Luna, carrying the bundle to the waiting boats. “But we will do our best. We have all been practicing very hard.”

 

“It just would have been nice to have a Parselmouth with us as a second option,” said Xenophilius. “And it would also be a fascinating conversation.” 

 

“Perhaps if we do well,” Luna said, “we can befriend the Serpent. And then next time, after his children are old enough to be in school, we can bring Harry and Ginny along. We could make it a whole new journey.”

 

Xenophilius Lovegood brightened considerably at the thought. “You’re right, dear,” he said jovially. “Of course there will be a next time. What a fantastic idea!”

 

“Thank you,” said Luna, as she and Milinka shoved their boat from the shore out to the water.

 

“And just think of the possibilities!” Xenophilius continued as he climbed into his own boat with their bass, Sergei. “Why, there’s a chance that his children are Parselmouths! We could bring his whole family when they're old enough! Oh, the conversations we could have with the Sankuru Serpent! Do you think Parseltongue is a universal language, or would the dialect be different on this continent?”

 

And so Xenophilius continued as the Luna and the Lovegood Expedition floated down the Congo River, towards whatever may come.


	31. Twelve and a Half Years Later: Boxing Day

  
Author's notes: George and Ron have an idea.  


* * *

Twelve and a Half Years Later

Boxing Day 

 

 

"Thanks very much," said George Weasley, punching numbers on the register and handing a handful of coins to the customer. "Have a Happy New Year."

 

"Thank you," the little girl replied, poking her finger gleefully through the cage at her new pygmy puff. Her father, who had a look of resigned fear of what a new animal would do to his household, smiled weakly at George as he took the change and walked his daughter toward the exit.

 

George stared after them, his polite demeanor slowly melting away to impatient anticipation.

 

The little bell rang over the door, and the pair walked out into the snow.

 

"That the last one?" George whispered.

 

Ron Weasley, who was adjusting a shelf of Muggle 'magic tricks,' took a glance around the shop. "Yeah, that was the last one."

 

"Then lock the fucking door!" George yelled hysterically. "Now! Quick!"

 

Ron jumped to attention and bolted towards the door.

 

"What’s all the screaming about?" Verity asked, poking her head out of the back office.

 

"Closing shop while we still have a chance," said George wearily. 

 

The week before Christmas was traditionally wild with sales at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. But it was the day after Christmas when things always went to hell. Skiving Snackboxes and Self-Healing Finger Guillotines were a hard sell to most parents, but once children got a hold of a pile of spend-it-on-your-whim Christmas money… 

 

_Dingle Dingle._

 

"Damn it, Ron," George muttered under his breath, dropping his head onto the counter. 

 

"I tried as fast as I could, George," said Ron as the door swung open.

 

"We’re closed for the night! Come back tomorrow!"

 

"You’d better not be closed," came a voice from behind a pile of boxes and bags with legs. "We were saving the best for last."

 

"Yeah, well, you probably should have saved the best for first, mate," said George. "We’re bloody tired, and we’re closed."

 

"Well, een zat case, we’ll just take our money elsewhere, won’t we, Bill?" said a voice from behind the walking pile.

 

"Yeah, and any offer that we have to babysit your son in the future," said Bill Weasley, setting his load onto the counter. "In fact, we might just take him for ourselves. Could use another man in the family."

 

"Hi, Daddy!" Fred Weasley called out, releasing himself from Fleur’s hand and running towards his father.

 

"He behaves so well," said Fleur as her oldest daughter, Victoire, closed the door behind them. "Not at all like heez father. Matilda, no touching."

 

Her younger daughter was reaching for a box of Rudolph’s Red Rear ( _Guaranteed Rash or We’ll Refund Your Cash!_ ), and Fleur, holding her hand, tugged her back.

 

"Hello, Fleur," said Verity, pushing aside the curtain and walking onto the sales floor. "Hi, Bill. Don’t worry about Rudolph’s. The box is sealed with a Child-Proof Charm. No one under the age of seventeen can open it."

 

"Perfectly safe, love," said George to his sister-in-law, lifting his son to sit on the counter. "But, yeah, pretty uncomfortable if it gets on your hands. Have a good day, kid?"

 

"Mm hmm," Fred said with an animated nod.

 

"What did you buy?"

 

"Candy."

 

"The man knows how to spend wisely," George said with a smirk, bending over until he was an inch from Fred’s face. "Blow."

 

Fred let out a puff of air into George’s face, which he inhaled deeply.

 

"Chocolate Frogs," said George, nodding in approval as he ruffled Fred’s red hair.  "Right after my own heart, good choice."

 

Fred and Matilda giggled, but Verity and Bill rolled their eyes while Fleur just looked at George with mild disgust. George returned it with a cocked eyebrow. "Oh, don’t give me that look, Fleur," he said. "We clean their poo and their puke. What’s a little chocolate breath between father and son?"

 

Fleur huffed. "If you say so…"

 

"What are these?" asked Victoire from the other side of the room.

 

George turned to his niece’s voice to see that she was looking at a stack of boxes, which were  mostly gone after the shopping rush. Half of the remaining boxes bore the likeness of a muscled man with long blonde hair an open ruffled shirt, gazing deep into the eyes of a brunette woman with a low-cut décolletage, while the others carried the picture of a fierce-looking wizard, sword by his side, wand held aloft in victory as he stood on a pile of dead trolls. 

 

"Ah, yes," he said, walking towards Victoire, who at ten years old was already showing a striking likeness to her mother, "Patented Daydream Charms. Extremely popular, as you can see. Your Aunt Hermione actually was just as interested in them when they were first released. How’d that work out for her, Ron?"

 

"Couldn’t tell you," said Ron, "as I don’t think she ever got one."

 

"That’s odd," said George. "If I remember right, Fred offered her a free one, and we were one short at the end of the day, so I would assume that she picked it up."

 

"I… I doubt it," Ron replied, somewhat uncomfortably. "She might have given it to Ginny, she was showing some interest in it."

 

"Uh huh," said George slowly before leaning into Victoire. "Just didn’t want to break his wittle heart," he whispered sympathetically. "She was probably daydreaming about Viktor Krum or Gilderoy… _Oy_! No chucking the merchandise!"

 

"I didn’t chuck anything!" said Ron, but he hid his hands behind his back as Victoire and the kids laughed.

 

"Yeah, whatever," said George, bending over and picking up an undetonated Dungbomb. "Just be lucky this one’s a dud, or else I would have had you stay until the place was aerated."

 

"What’s the difference between the two different boxes?" asked Victoire, holding one each.

 

"Nothing at all," said George. "We just figured boys were as interested in them as girls, but wouldn’t be caught dead buying the harlequin romance packaging. It’s true, too. Sales have doubled since we introduced the male-centric box."

 

" _Maman_ , can I buy one?" Victoire asked Fleur. Despite her French-Veela looks, Victoire’s voice only carried a hint of her mother’s accent.  It still didn’t make her occasional slip into French, thanks in no small part to living with Fleur and her mannerisms, any less jarring.

 

" _Non_ ," Fleur said sternly. "You are far too young for any such thing."

 

"But, Mummy…!"

 

"Give us your last baby tooth," said Bill, "and then we can talk about it."

 

Victoire pouted. "Not my fault that last molar hasn’t come out yet…"

 

"We’re actually talking about putting these in the restricted section," said Verity.

 

"Excuse me?" said Bill.

 

"Yeah, we’re looking at a children’s formula," George admitted. "These things work almost too well. We’ve been getting more and more sales to… umm… creative clientele lately."

 

"Creative how?"

 

"Creepy men and women," said Verity. "Smell weird. Put the box under their robes as soon as they leave, like it’s some kind of contraband."

 

"Yeah, they’re probably using them for more… umm…" George looked around nervously at the children, "more _adult_ daydreams."

 

"What are you…?" Fleur asked. Her eyes widened with dawning comprehension. " _Dieu dans le ciel et tous ses oncles farfelus,_ Victoire, put ze boxes down _maintenant_!"

 

"They’re fine, they’re fine!" George assured.

 

"George Weasley, how _defi_ you put these _matériaux pornographiques_ out for _petits_ children to _acheter_!"

 

"Ummm… I… um…" George stammered, helplessly looking between Verity and Bill. "I only caught half of that, sorry…"

 

"She’s not happy, mate," said Bill with a slight chuckle. "That’s all you need to know."

 

"Look, it’s not a big deal!" said George. "Seriously, we try our best to screen everyone who buys them. If they’re young enough to be daydreaming about, you know, holding their girlfriend out over the front of a boat to make her think like she’s flying, we’d know it. If they want to daydream about having a pony or a dragon, more power to them. If they’re forty-five with two days of stubble and a stain on their trousers, then…"

 

_"C’est repugnant!"_

 

"Okay, I caught ‘repugnant,’ I know what _that_ means…"

 

"And as much as I’d love to hang around and listen to this delightful conversation," said Ron quickly, "I think I’m going to make my leave. Hermione’s holding the fort with two toddlers and a mountain of new Christmas toys that make funny noises. She’ll tear my throat out if I’m not home soon."

 

"She’ll tear your throat out, anyway," said George. "So could you stick around for a few minutes? I want to talk to you."

 

"What about?"

 

"Why don’t you and Freddy head home, love?" said George to Verity. "I’ll lock up."

 

"But I didn’t get to buy anything!" Victoire said. "I still have Christmas money left!"

 

"Come on back tomorrow," said George. "I’ll let you have one freebie and you can spend your money somewhere else."

 

"Really?" Victoire asked, brightening.

 

"Pygmy Puff to X-Ray Glasses," said George. "Anything you want. Except… um… except a Daydream Charm," he added slowly, catching Fleur’s dark gaze, "which… will be off the shelves starting tomorrow. Scout’s honor, Mrs. Weasley."

 

"Hmm," Victoire mused. "I do like the Pygmy Puffs…"

 

"As did your Aunt Ginny," said George. "Named him Arnold. Odd name, excellent choice, which we will handle tomorrow because the register’s locked for the night. Ron, can you stick?"

 

"Yeah, sure," Ron sighed. "For a few minutes, anyway."

 

"That’s all I need," said George before giving his nieces hugs goodnight.

 

\---------

 

"Scout’s honor?" Ron asked under his breath. A few minutes after they had made their goodbyes to Bill, Fleur, Verity, and the children, Ron and George found themselves in the backroom of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. George’s office was even odder than the store itself. Walls were covered in posters and paintings. Bookshelves were stuffed full of odd assortments of toys and tricks, ranging from an exploded mushroom to a Muggle toy that looked to Ron like a snarling turtle, walking on his hind legs and carrying a pair of swords.

 

_But that can’t be right,_ Ron thought.  _Who’d want a toy like that?_

 

"Yeah, Scout’s honor," said George, flipping his feet up onto his desk. "You always learn what to tell the customer to leave them satisfied."

 

"But you were never in Crup Scouts," said Ron.

 

"But Fleur doesn’t know that," said George, tapping his temple. "And that’s what counts."

 

"No, but Bill _does_ know that," Ron countered. "And _that’s_ what counts."

 

"Bloody hell," George muttered. "You’re right.  I’m going to have to take them off the floor, aren’t I?"

"Yeah, probably…"

 

"And they’re so good for business, too!" George whined. "Damn it, they sell so bloody well!"

 

"Well, you could still sell them," said Ron. "Just not to whoever’s looking for them."

 

"Yeah, you might be right there," said George, considering, fiddling with a Muggle toy that looked to Ron like nothing more than a cube covered in colored squares. "After all, what broomstick does a kid want more: the one stacked thirty deep on the wall, or the one in the glass case behind the counter?"

 

"Leave them behind the counter," Ron continued. "Advertise it. Say that they’re too strong to be left out in the open. People will line up because they think they’re getting into something really great."

 

"And then when we come up with the children’s formula we can put those on the floor instead, and still sell the strong stuff on a per-customer request basis," George said hopefully. "See what I’ve been saying, Ron? You got it in you!"

 

"Got what in me?" asked Ron. "You haven’t said anything like that."

 

"I haven’t, have I?" George said quietly. "Bollocks, getting ahead of myself."

 

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

 

"Your future, my boy," said George. "Where you want to be, where you think you should be, and where I think you should be."

 

"Okay?" said Ron, arching an eyebrow.

 

"I like what you’re doing around here," said George. "I like your style, kid. You’re going places. You got spunk. You got moxie."

 

"And since when did you start turning into an American version of Rita Skeeter?"

 

"Oh, come on, you little berk," said George. "I don’t get a chance to give a rousing promotion speech very often. Let me have a shot, would you?"

 

"A _promotion_?" Ron asked. "Like what? There’s nothing to promote me to! You own the store. You manage this place, you manage the Hogsmeade location. The rest of us are just your lackeys, remember? There’s not a lot of middle ground."

 

"Well, that’s going to change," said George, "because I want to put you in charge of this location."

 

Ron paused. "Wait, what?"

 

"Look, here’s the thing," said George. "I love the Wheezes. I truly, truly do. But Fred and I… we were about the research and development. We were never the business types."

 

"But you certainly have done well for yourselves…"

 

"No denying it," George admitted. "But… after Fred died… things kind of went stagnant around here. We’ve been in business for fourteen years, Ron, and after our initial stock, maybe ten percent of what we’ve added to our inventory is original work. The rest are patents bought from others, or imported from third parties. That’s not how we wanted it to go."

 

"George, you can’t help that," said Ron. "Things got tough after Fred died. But you held this place together, even if you did have to resort to looking outside for assistance. It’s a wild success, and Fred would be more than proud of what you’ve turned it into."

 

"What _we’ve_ turned it into," George sighed. "But, yeah, I suppose you’re right. But that doesn’t make it right."

 

"Yeah, I suppose not…"

 

"We were never about the money," said George. "You knew us. We weren’t… we weren’t accountants. My love for making jokes and toys got buried in forms and tax paperwork and contracts. And that has to change. I want to go back to the basics."

 

"So what you’re proposing is…?"

 

"You get the Diagon location," George explained. "Lee gets the Hogsmeade. You hire, you fire, you run the books. You triple your paycheck, plus get a larger share of the profits at the end of the year."

 

"And what about you?"

 

"I still own, but I go back into development," said George. "Figure out new product. Design, test, blah blah blah. Anything I find suitable goes directly to the two stores. And if you guys want to sell any new product from other companies it doesn’t happen without my approval. I might not have as direct a hand as before, but I still want to make sure that everything bears the Weasley stamp of approval."

 

"Intriguing," Ron said, his brow furrowed.

 

"Well, what do you think?" asked George. "Are you in?"

 

He had expected Ron to jump out of his seat in excitement. What George didn’t expect was uncomfortable silence.

 

"I… I don’t know…" said Ron.

 

"What do you mean, _you don’t know_?" said George. "Ron, this is a sweet deal!"

 

"Yeah, yeah, it is…" Ron said slowly. "But… Hell, I don’t know. I was actually thinking of putting in my two week notice."

 

"You… you _what_?"

 

"I’m thinking of quitting," said Ron. "Doing the home thing full-time."

 

George’s mouth dropped. "But… but why? I mean, you’re not going to work?"

 

"Look, Hermione’s doing the stay-at-home office thing right now," said Ron. "Has been ever since Hugo was born. But it’s limiting her career, and it’s killing her because of it. She wants to go back to work at the Ministry."

 

"So, you’re, what, going to let your wife make all of the money for the house?"

 

Ron glared at George. "Look, it’s not a big deal," said Ron. "Hermione deserves to go as far as she can. She already makes more money than Dad ever did, and she’s only thirty-one. Hell, can you look me straight in the eye and tell me that she’s _not_ going to be on the short list for Minister when Kingsley retires?"

 

George sighed. "Damn it, you have a point. You married a bloody genius, I’ll give you that. So what does that make you? Little Miss Homemaker?"

 

"Nothing wrong with it," Ron said with a shrug. "Hugo’s old enough now where he doesn’t need a bottle and will actually eat the food that he’s given. And Rose… George, you know how Rose is. She’s so much older than her five years, and she’s almost as much of a help with Hugo as anyone. She knows how to be an older sister."

 

"She’s had training with Al," said George with a chuckle. Rose and Albus had taken on a brother-sister type relationship in the times that Ron and Hermione had gotten together with Ginny and Harry. The closeness of their ages had a lot to do with it, he supposed. Rose had been an only child for a long time, and had quickly taken the younger Albus under her wing as a pseudo-brother.

 

"And I’ve been studying up," Ron continued. "Rose has had a story read to her every night before bed, but she’s getting old enough where she’s ready to start some sort of formal education."

 

"You?" George said. "You think you can teach her? Teach both of them?"

 

"Why not?" said Ron. "I’ve already been sitting in on Ginny when she’s working with James. It’s not like we’re going to be getting into really complex stuff. I only have to teach them the basics. Reading, writing, maths…"

 

"Well, you stink at maths!"

 

"Then why did you ask me to take over your store?" Ron countered. "If you don’t think I can do primary arithmetic, then there’s no way I’d be able to handle the accounting."

 

" _Touché_ …" 

 

"It won’t be that tough, really," Ron insisted. "Besides, you know Hermione. Every experience is an educational experience for her. When she’s home at night and during the weekends she’ll be teaching them both, even if she doesn’t know she’s doing it."

 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," George sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Fuck. You know you’re putting me in a bit of a spot here, right?"

 

"Yeah, I know," said Ron. "Look, it wouldn’t have worked, anyway. I’m right miserable with a load on my shoulders."

 

"Well, you’ve gotten better about it, at least," said George, putting his elbows on his desk and resting his head in his hands. "Damn, I don’t know… I love this job, but I hate the bureaucracy of it. I suppose I’ll have to find someone else to run the place, because I don’t think I could do it anymore."

 

"Maybe Lee could run both of them?"

 

"Oh, hell no," said George. "He’s my best mate, I don’t want to put him in the same bind that’s driving me loony. Maybe I should toss an owl to Angelina. She’s been talking about getting out of her job at the Ministry…"

 

"Do you think Angie’d be able to handle this, though?" asked Ron. "She’s got a great business sense, sure. But she gets scary when she’s in charge of something; remember when she was captain of the Quidditch team? How’d that work out when she’s running a joke shop?"

 

" _Fuuuuck_ …" George said, dropping his head onto his desk. "I don’t have nearly enough responsible people in my life."

 

"What about Verity?"

 

"What about her?"

 

"Well, she’s been running the business end more than you have," said Ron. "Why couldn’t you give it to her?"

 

George rolled his eyes. "Ron, you do realize that she’s in the same boat as you, right?"

 

"You’re going to be home more now," said Ron.

 

"On and off, yeah," George said. "But I’m hoping to take this thing international, you know? Fred and I, we only got around to the local materials. Just hearing what you and the others got yourselves into when you were going global… hell, Longbottom’s Corpse Plant would give a Dungbomb some much needed competition…"

 

"So Verity runs the store during the day and comes home at night," Ron shrugged. "When you’re out of town, you can leave Fred with me for the day. Him and Hugo’ll be learning at the same level, I could teach them both."

 

" _And_ Rose?" George scoffed. "Ron, I love you like a brother, but you’re out of your fucking gourd."

 

"Fine, then," Ron insisted. "I’ll talk to Ginny. She can bring her lot over. One of us can handle the tots while the other one handles the older kids."

 

"Like a little school?" said George, leaning back again. "A little Weasley school?"

 

"Well, I don’t know if…"

 

"No, wait…" George pondered. "That’s actually a damn good idea."

 

"Me and Ginny handling _all_ of the kids?" said Ron. "Sorry, mate, but six is probably going to be our limit."

 

"Not if you talk Penelope into bringing Gid and Fab," said George. "And Fleur into bringing Matilda, especially with Victoire heading off to Hogwarts next September. I could do my share when I’m not working on my experiments…"

 

"I could talk to the Dursleys," said Ron. "Susan probably wouldn’t mind bringing Evan in. And Dudley… well, he’s not exactly the brightest bloke, but his work’s only seasonal; he could come in and do some basics during the winter."

 

"…And I guarantee that Mum and Dad would want to toss their hat into the ring," said George. "Maybe Harry’s aunt, too… By Fred, Ron, I think we’ve got something here. We’ll have our own little Hogwarts."

 

"Hermione’s always said that the Ministry should start up some sort of primary school for wizards," said Ron. "This is kind of a start, isn’t it?"

 

"Nah, they’d never go for it," said George, shaking his head. "Muggles don’t mind having their government run everything for them, but I don’t think witches and wizards would be too giddy about having their kids forced into a public school system. This is just an exception to the rule."

 

"Yeah, you’re right," Ron said.  "Bloody hell, we’re actually going to do this, aren’t we?"

 

"Well, we obviously have a lot of people to talk to about it first," said George, standing up. "I still have to see if Verity would mind running the shop. And if anyone’s uncomfortable with the idea…"

 

"I know Hermione’d be up for it," said Ron, standing himself and taking his coat from its hanger. "Hell, my only problem’s going to be talking her out of quitting her job to write up course diagrams."

 

"She’d better not," said George, with an accusing point of the finger. "Only reason we got into this fucking mess in the first place is because your wife’s going to be Minister of Magic someday. She’d better not disappoint me."


	32. Thirteen Years Later: Shall We Begin?

  
Author's notes: Victoire is Sorted.  


* * *

Thirteen Years Later: 

Shall We Begin?

 

\---------

 

"GRYFFINDOR!" 

 

The Gryffindor table erupted into applause as a beaming Victoire Weasley pulled the Sorting Hat from her head and ran down the steps to join her new House. She received numerous slaps on the back and handshakes before wrestling her way to an open seat beside the only person in the House that she knew. 

 

"Welcome aboard," said Teddy Lupin, who had donned a maroon haircut beneath his pointed hat in celebration of the start of the new school year. 

 

"Thanks!" Victoire replied, her bright smile looking like it would be permanently chiseled there. "How are…?" 

 

Before she could get any further, she heard the general ebb of conversation die down. As Victoire was the last first year on the list, she saw that Professor Allentide, a middle-aged witch with a long plait down to nearly her knees, had rolled up the parchment and returned to the High Table. As she placed herself between Neville ( _Professor Longbottom_ , Victoire corrected herself) and a witch with golden eyes and short gray hair, the tall wizard seated in the large, golden chair in the middle of the table stood and walked to the podium. 

 

"Good evening," said the wizard, gazing down at the students through his small wire-framed glasses. A warm smile was displayed beneath his long horseshoe mustache. "I would like to welcome our new students, as well as those returning for a new year, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." 

 

"Is that Professor Ogden?" Victoire whispered to Teddy, who nodded quickly before returning his attention to the front. 

 

"I believe now would be a good time for introductions," Professor Tiberius Ogden continued, "as well as to make announcements. But, we don’t have any new teachers this year. And since no one’s leaving the Great Hall any time soon, why make announcements that will be forgotten as soon as we see the food? 

 

"In the meantime, I’ve been looking forward to the roast duck since the end of term feast last year, so…" he clapped his hands, "tuck in!" 

 

\---------

 

"Is that her?" 

 

"Yeah, that’s her," Teddy said over scrambled eggs the next morning. 

 

"She’s pretty cute," said a thin boy with straw-colored hair as he watched Victoire Weasley walk into the Great Hall with two of her fellow Gryffindor first-year girls. 

 

"Yeah, well, she’s eleven," Teddy warned. "And she’s like my cousin, so…" 

 

"Hey, I’m only saying…" 

 

"Good morning!" Victoire said as she sat down beside Teddy. 

 

"Morning, sunshine!" Teddy’s friend replied brightly. "Sleep well, did you?" 

 

"I’m sorry," Victoire said. "Do I know you?" 

 

"That’s Jack," said Teddy as he speared a piece of sausage with his fork. "Jack Pearson. He’s a bit of a prick, so don’t let him get to you." 

 

"And that’s Ted," said Jack with a smirk. "He’s a bit of a wanker, so don’t let him get to you." 

 

Teddy gave Jack the fingers before turning to Victoire. "Sleep well, did you?" 

 

"For the most part," said Victoire, scooping potatoes onto her plate, careful not to drop any on a small pile of papers. "Took a while to actually nod off." 

 

"Yeah, I know how that can be," said Teddy. "First day away from home’s tough for most people." 

 

"Actually," said one of the two other Gryffindor first-year girls, "it’s because Christine snores." 

 

"I do not!" said another girl, a slightly pudgy girl with brunette hair put up in pigtails. The hair was extremely curly, and made her look somewhat like a cocker spaniel. 

 

"You do a little bit," Victoire admitted. "But it’s not that bad, really!" 

 

"Write your mum and dad," Teddy whispered to Victoire. "I’m sure they could send you some earplugs." 

 

"My brother’s in the bedroom next to me," Christine pouted. "And he never complained…" 

 

"How old’s your brother?" asked Jack. "He probably cast an Imperturbable Charm on his door, so he didn’t hear anything." 

 

"Sixteen," said Christine, blushing. "That’s him, sitting down at the Ravenclaw table." 

 

She pointed over the Hufflepuff table to Ravenclaw, where a tall, muscular boy with curly brown hair to match his sister’s was sitting down with a group of other sixth years. 

 

"Holy shite," Jack gasped. "That’s… you’re _Freddy Hogan’s_ sister?" 

 

"Yeah, I am," said Christine. "What of it?" 

  
"What of it?" said Jack. "Bloody hell, he’s only the best Keeper to come out of Ravenclaw in decades." 

 

"Sorry," Christine shrugged. "I’ve never been much of a sports fan, even with my brother involved. I thought my parents were exaggerating. You know, like parents normally do." 

 

"Don’t be sorry," said Jack, tapping the table repeatedly. "Hell, this is bloody brilliant! Ted, imagine what kind of potions we can dump into his porridge now that we have an inside man!" 

 

"No," said Teddy. "No potions. I want to beat him fair and square on the pitch." 

 

"Yeah, well, first you have to make the team," said a voice from behind him. "Then we can start talking about beating Ravenclaw." 

 

"I like my chances this year," said Teddy as a boy and two girls sat down. "We’re down two Chasers and a Beater." 

 

"I thought you were going to go for Seeker?" asked one of the two older girls, a scrawny blonde, as she grabbed a muffin. 

 

"I can’t exactly go for Seeker if Seeker’s not available," said Teddy. "Marcus has two years left, _and_ he’s the captain. I just figure if I get my foot in the door now, it’ll give Squall enough reason to put me in as captain later, or at least give enough of a head start to convince whoever replaces Marcus to give me a shot." 

 

"Yeah, well, you’ll have to get through me first," said the boy, short and chubby with a red ponytail that always reminded Teddy of Victoire’s father’s. "I’m trying out, too." 

 

"Well, then," said Teddy. "It’s on like Diddy Kong." 

 

"What’s that?" 

 

Teddy looked around the table to see that everyone listening to the conversation was giving him a confused look. 

 

"Um…" he said, clearing his throat nervously. "I need Edmund here. He’s  Muggle-born. He’d get it." 

 

"Rrrright…" said the redheaded boy. 

 

"You said it in front of Aunt Hermione once," said Victoire, innocently sipping her orange juice. "She didn’t get it, either." 

 

"Well, that’s because she’s _old…_ " 

 

"So that must make you a Weasley," said the redhead to Victoire. "The Champion’s daughter?" 

 

"Victoire," she replied. "Victoire Weasley." 

 

"Sorry," said Teddy. "Didn’t know I was supposed to be making introductions…" 

 

"No need," said the blonde girl, extending her hand to Victoire. "Jennifer Devereau." 

 

"Hi," said Victoire. 

 

"Carla Meece," said the other third-year girl, pale and black-haired. 

 

"Gavin," said the redhead. "Gavin Sorter. Pureblood. Jenn’s me girlfriend." 

 

"More than I needed to know," said Victoire uncomfortably, "but pleasure to meet you." 

 

"This is Christine Hogan," said Teddy, pointing to the first-year. 

 

"Bloody hell," Gavin gasped. "Freddy Hogan’s sister?" 

 

"Yes, yes," said Christine with a roll of her eyes. "I’m the little sister of the _great_ Freddy Hogan. Blimey, I still have eye bogeys from my first night here and I’ve already been knocked down a peg." 

 

"Well, I’m just saying…" 

 

"I’m Theresa!" said the other first year girl, who seemed obviously miffed that she was being left out of the conversation. Her hand shot out at Teddy. 

 

"Nice to… Nice to meet you, Theresa," said Teddy, staring at her stiff arm nervously. "Where are the others? There were five and four this year, right?" 

 

"Yeah, there was," said Christine. "Chelsea’s at the other end with her brother…" 

 

"Oh, yeah," said Jack, leaning back to scout the end. "There’s Edmund. Blimey, that’s his sister? We got our share of nice-looking ones this year, I tell ya…" 

 

"…and Sarah’s still sleeping," Christine continued. "Couldn’t wake her up for the life of us." 

 

"Huh…" said Teddy. He reached over and dug through the pile of papers before he pulled out one. He took a quick glance, then whistled softly. "Well, she’s fucked." 

 

"Fucked?" said Theresa. "Fucked how? It’s just sleeping in…" 

 

"It’s fucked when first years start the year with Squall," said Teddy. "If you want to do her a favor you’ll want to dump a bucket of water on her before it’s too late." 

 

"They’re starting with Squall?" Jack asked with wide eyes. "Oh, yeah. She’s fucked." 

 

"What’s that?" asked Victoire, pointing to the papers. "Are those our timetables?" 

 

"Oh!" said Teddy. "Yeah. Squall dropped them off before you lot showed up." 

 

"Bloody hell, you could have said it earlier!" said Gavin, digging quickly through the stack before he found his own. "You already looked at yours, right, Lupin?" 

 

"Yeah, I already did," said Teddy, reaching into the sudden flurry of hands around the stack. "Here, let me…" 

 

"Alright, then, switch," said Gavin, grabbing Teddy’s schedule from beneath his plate and slapping his own down in its place. Teddy was too busy handing out the schedules to the latecomers to get a look at it. 

 

" _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ ," Victoire read. "That’s our first class?" 

 

"Yeah," said Teddy. "That’s Professor Squall’s class. He’s our Head of House." 

 

"Which one is he?" asked Christine, looking towards the High Table, where the professors where busy eating their own breakfasts. 

 

"You already missed him," said Jack. "That’s Squall for you, though. Always likes to prepare for class at least a half hour before the start. He dropped off our schedules and was gone before the cold shiver finished passing through my spine." 

 

"He doesn’t sound like a very good Head," said Victoire. 

 

"He’s fine enough," said Teddy. "Just takes his job really seriously. He’s an old Auror, you know." 

 

"But still…" Victoire sighed. "Why couldn’t we have gotten Neville for a Head?" 

 

"Professor Longbottom?" said Jack. "He’s not the Head of anyone’s House right now. I heard he was in line to take the Ravenclaw Head after the last Charms professor retired. But there’s some rule that says any professor can’t take the Head of House for any House but the one he was in as a student. Conflict of interest, I guess. And Bosh, the new Charms professor, he was a Ravenclaw, so he got the Head right away." 

 

"So Neville can’t be a Head of House until the Gryffindor slot opens up," Teddy continued. "And the Gryffindor slot doesn’t open up until Squall’s retired. Which sucks, cuz, yeah, Nev… Professor Longbottom would make a hell of a Head." 

 

"What the hell, Lupin?" Gavin said, reading Teddy’s schedule. " _Muggle Studies_

 

"Oh, God," said Carla as she and Jennifer leaned in over Gavin’s shoulder. "He’s still taking Muggle Studies? Ted, I thought we talked you out of that!" 

 

"Look, I don’t see what the big deal is!" Teddy said, and Victoire could tell that this wasn’t the first time he had heard this. 

 

"It’s just a waste of time, though," said Gavin. "I mean, your girlfriend’s a Muggle, you’re all ‘Oooh, Dinky Kong, hur, hur _,_ ’ or whatever. Hell, you’re already halfway to being a Muggle!" 

 

"It’s _Diddy Kong_ ," said Teddy, his hair turning bright red to match his face. "And she’s _not_ my girlfriend." 

 

"Caroline _is_ kind of your girlfriend," Victoire admitted. 

 

"See?" said Gavin. "Even Hermione’s… umm… niece or… niece-in-law… second… sister’s…" 

 

" _She’s not my girlfriend_ ," Teddy repeated slowly. "She’s… she’s just a friend. I can’t… I can’t be anything more than that to her… It wouldn’t be fair to her… Hell, we’ve been through this…" 

 

"Alright, alright, so she’s not your girlfriend," said Jack. "Your best-female-friend-who-you-send-an-owl-to-once-a-week-and-mumble-happily-about-in-your-sleep is a Muggle. You already know more about Muggles than any Gryffindor in our year besides Edmund. Bateman’s going to bore you to tears." 

 

"At least we’ll be bored together," said Carla. "I’m in, too."

 

"Hey, it might come in handy down the line," said Teddy. "I guess it’s part of the requirement for some departments at the Ministry. And _Muggle Studies_ looks a lot better on a resume than _Friend of a Muggle_. In the meantime, it’s an easy class, a quick grade, and I’ll still be able to carry two more third-year classes without killing myself." 

 

"You’re taking Ancient Runes," said Jennifer, " _and_ Care of Magical Creatures. You might want to retract that statement about not killing yourself. If Hagrid’s monsters don’t kill you, then reading old scribbles will." 

 

"Why don’t I have any of those classes?" asked Theresa, poring over her schedule. 

 

"Because you’re a first year," said Jack. "You only get the basics: the classes you’re required to take all seven years, plus flying lessons. Stuff like Muggle Studies and Divination don’t show up until your third year, then you get to choose which ones you want to take." 

 

"This schedule doesn’t look that bad," said Victoire. "I think I can handle this…" 

 

"Famous last words," Jack muttered. 

 

\---------

 

The first thing Victoire saw when she walked into class a half hour later was the charts on the wall. Plastering everything besides the windows, they appeared to cover everything from monsters to curses to battle plans. 

 

The second thing she noticed was the professor, a severe looking wizard with an even more severe crew cut. Standing ramrod straight with his arms behind his back, he looked downright bulky beneath his robes, like he was carrying hard muscle beneath the fat of age. His nose looked squished, like it had been punched into his face and never healed straight, and his ears were cauliflowered. 

 

"Take your seats," he said in a firm, yet surprisingly thin, voice when the last student had entered the room. "There are placards on them with your name, and are in alphabetical order. It will save us the trouble of giving roll call." 

 

Victoire, who knew that she was the last name in all of the first years, found her name ( _Weasley, V_.) in the middle of the classroom. All of the desks behind her were empty, probably to be filled during doubles, and the desks in front of her were all filled, except for one. 

 

"I see we have someone missing," the professor said, picking up the paper placard from the empty desk. " _S. Harvey_. Can anyone tell me of her whereabouts?" 

 

"Sarah overslept, sir," said Theresa quietly. 

 

"Could you raise your hand, please?" he replied softly. 

 

Theresa did as she was told. 

 

"Miss Daulby?" 

 

"Sarah overslept," Theresa repeated, lowering her hand. "It’s her first night away from home, she had trouble falling asleep last night. I was able to get her up, she should be here any minute." 

 

"Very well," the professor nodded. He placed the placard back onto the desk and returned to the front of the class, pulling his wand from his pocket as he went and pointing it at the blackboard. 

 

"My name," he said, "is Professor Calamus Squall." As he said this, he moved his wand, and his name appeared on the board in the same ruler-straight lines that he himself carried. "To you, my name is _Professor Squall_ or _sir_. My name is not _Squall_ , my name is not _Calamus_ and my name is not _Callie_. Anyone referring to me directly by any name other than _Professor Squall_ , _sir_ , or any combination of the two will be docked House points, is that clear?" 

 

"Yes, sir," the Gryffindor first-years replied. Victoire was afraid that a man like this would make them repeat their answer until they said it like a military regiment, but he spared them that, at least. 

 

"As the Head of Gryffindor House," he continued, "I wish to impart upon you the need for the utmost respect and obedience, both to myself and to the other professors here at Hogwarts. Gryffindor has won the House Cup four out of the last five years, and I intend to keep it that way. And _you_ should intend to keep it that way. You should be proud of your House, for it has been the home of many, _many_ respected witches and wizards and good morning, Miss Harvey." 

 

The seven Gryffindor students turned around in their seats as Professor Squall looked sternly into the back of the classroom. 

 

"I’m sorry," said a bedraggled brunette, walking awkwardly into the room. "I’m sorry I’m late, sir… I… I overslept and…" 

 

"So I heard," said Squall. "And you caught a passing rain shower on your way?" 

 

Sarah blushed even harder, brushing a lock of her soggy hair from her forehead as some of the Gryffindors giggled. Victoire shot a severe look at Theresa, who shrugged. _It worked,_ she mouthed with a small smirk. 

 

"Please take your seat, Miss Harvey," Squall said, rapping his knuckles on the empty desk. "Ten points from Gryffindor, which is a _very_ bad start considering our discussion that you interrupted." 

 

"I’m sorry, sir," Sarah barely said as she ducked down into her desk. 

 

"You will speak to me after class," Squall continued. "And your peers will catch you up on what you have missed, so as to not allow you to get into any further trouble in the future, am I clear, Gryffindors?" 

 

"Yes, sir," the students replied, more firmly this time. 

 

"Good," said Squall, returning to the front as though nothing had happened. "As I was saying, Gryffindor house has been the home of many great witches and wizards throughout the centuries. Professor Minerva McGonagall, our last Headmistress, was a Gryffindor. The late, great Professor Albus Dumbledore was a Gryffindor. The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, was a Gryffindor. And many, many of those who were involved in the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were Gryffindors, including Harry Potter himself, along with Miss Weasley’s aunt and uncle, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley." 

 

Once again the class turned, and this time, Victoire felt the burning gaze of attention. 

 

"You _are_ that Weasley, am I correct?" Squall asked. 

 

"One of them, yeah," said Victoire, shrinking in her seat slightly. 

 

"You are the daughter of the Beauxbatons Champion, Fleur Delacour?" 

 

"Yes, sir," Victoire said, her throat suddenly dry. 

 

"Hm," said Squall, and then gave a brief nod of his head. "Excellent. It is a privilege to have you in our House, Miss Weasley. If your blood is half as strong as those before you, you have much to look forward to." 

 

"Thank you, sir," said Victoire with a weak smile. 

 

"Excellent," Squall said as the class turned back to the front. Christine gave her a quick fist-pump before she turned around, but she also noticed an extended glare from Theresa. 

 

"Now," Squall continued, "Who can tell me _why_ we study Defense Against the Dark Arts? Mr. Mills?" 

 

Aaron Mills, a short skinny blonde boy, lowered his hand. "In order to… umm… in order to defend ourselves against the Dark Arts?" 

 

Squall stared at him blankly. "That’s a… creative answer, Mr. Mills.  Anyone else? Let me clarify," he said when no one raised their hands, "We are obviously defending ourselves against the Dark Arts. But what are the Dark Arts? Miss Harvey?" 

 

"Well," Sarah said nervously, "I don’t… I don’t know exactly what they are today. But, like, Death Eaters and stuff?" 

 

"A valiant attempt, Miss Harvey," said Squall. "Two points for Gryffindor for raising a valid point: why do we study Defense Against the Dark Arts today? We are not currently at war. There is no supreme dark wizard on the verge of overthrowing our world, our government, our way of life. We don’t have to worry about Inferi knocking on our doors, or fear the Dark Mark appearing over our houses. We teach Defense Against the Dark Arts for seven years, although maybe one out of twenty of you will go on to become Aurors. 

 

"So, again, I ask: Why do we study Defense Against the Dark Arts? Mr. Smith?" 

 

"Because Dark Magic isn’t specifically related to Dark Wizards," said Nathaniel Smith. "There’s, like, werewolves and giants and stuff like that." 

 

"Five points for Gryffindor," said Squall. "And you will be learning that through the course of the seven years. We’ll be learning defensive spells, yes. We’ll be learning technique. We’ll be learning proper counter-measures to Dark magic. But we’ll also be learning about dangerous creatures, and how to protect ourselves from them. Any other reasons?" 

 

Victoire felt her hand rise before she even realized she knew that answer. 

 

"Miss Weasley?" 

 

"Because it might not be over," Victoire said. "Before there was Voldemort, there was Grindelwald. Before Grindelwald there was… well, there was Antioch Peverell, and who knows how many in between." 

 

Professor Squall nodded. "You are correct," he said. "If there is one thing I have learned in my decades of service to the Aurors, it is the fact is that evil, that darkness, never really dies. You will learn that in History of Magic. History repeats itself. Whenever one true evil falls, one harbinger of death, one black knight riding a horse called Ragnarok, Typhon, Armageddon, there has always been another to pick up his wand and carry on in his stead. 

 

"Ten points for Gryffindor, Miss Weasley." 

 

\---------

 

"Oh, dear," the grandmotherly-looking witch sighed as she pored over her class list. "Once again, we have no Slytherins in this class." 

 

She looked up at the small group of students, gazing down at them through half-moon spectacles, attached around her neck by a silver chain. "A shame, truly," she said. "I always hoped that, after the war, more purebloods would come to appreciate these teachings. But I suppose I was wrong." 

 

She set the class list down and walked up to the blackboard, where her name was already written in a dainty cursive. "My name is Professor Evelyn Bateman," she said. "And I am a Muggleborn. 

 

"My mother worked in a factory in Barnsley during World War II, building aircraft ammunition for the Royal Air Force to use in their fight against the Nazis. My father worked for a steel mill in Sheffield until he enlisted. He served for two months in France with the British Expeditionary Force in 1940 before returning to the island with a bullet in his hindquarters and missing one leg. 

 

"They met," she continued, "in a shelter in September of that year, during one of Germany’s many air raids over London. My father was currently recuperating there on a crutch while helping the army sort out their surge of volunteers, and my mother was there to see her younger brother off two days earlier as he was sent to France. 

 

"He would never return." 

 

Professor Bateman looked around her classroom, where the eyes of a dozen students, including Teddy Lupin, looked back at her in stunned silence. 

 

"I tell you this for a reason," she said. "I tell you this because one of the first things that you must learn in this classroom is that Muggles are real. They are not beasts, they are not novelties, they are not inferior. They have a rich, amazing history. One that puts our wizarding way of life to shame in its complexities, and one that should make you realize how they can continue to both thrive and to destroy themselves just as easily as we do.  And it makes you realize just how little you know about the world around you.  

 

"Now, before I spoke to you about my parents, how many of you had heard of World War II?" 

 

Of the fourteen students in the class, three raised their hands. Teddy was glad to know that he was among them. 

 

"Mm hmm," Bateman mused. "How many of you knew that there were bombs dropped by Nazis on London in 1940?" 

 

Teddy and one other raised their hands. 

 

"How many of you even heard of Nazis before today?" 

 

Three again. 

 

"Hmm," Evelyn said. "How many of you had heard of such a thing as the Royal Air Force?" 

 

Six raised their hands. 

 

"How many of you," she continued, "were horrified at the thought at the thought that, just seventy years ago, a male could lose their leg, through non-magical means, and not have it regrown again?" 

 

Almost everyone raised their hand. 

 

"And how many of you have heard of the defeat of Gellert Grindelwald in 1945?" 

 

Every hand now. 

 

"And how many knew that there was a Muggle war being waged at the same time, in the same place, as Grindelwald’s War?" 

 

Teddy was the only one who raised his hand. 

 

"Mr. Lupin?" Bateman said. "You seem to be the only one who raised their hand at every question except the leg question." 

 

"That’s right, ma’am," said Teddy. 

 

"Did you truly know all of this? Or are you simply trying to get into my good graces?" 

 

"A little bit of both, ma’am," said Teddy. "My best friend’s grandfather was on the HMS _Warspite_ at Narvik and Cape Matapan." 

 

"Oh, really?" said Evelyn with some surprise. "’The Old Lady?’ That’s remarkable; my uncle was Leading Regulator on that ship. What was his name?" 

 

"Geoffrey Banks," said Teddy. 

 

"And he had wizard children?" asked Bateman.  "Your friend's a Muggleborn?" 

 

"Well, one granddaughter’s a witch," Teddy admitted. "But I’m actually friends with her Muggle sister." 

 

 "Oh, how remarkable," said Bateman.  "Well, you must sit down with me sometime, and we'll talk about her grandfather.  Maybe as extra credit?" 

  

"Ummm, alright," said Teddy, not quite sure that he was ready to be the teacher's pet quite yet. 

 

"Kiss up," Carla said to him under her breath.

  

 "Lovely," Bateman continued before returning to the class.  "All of these events occurred in a world that most witches and wizards believe is not theirs.  All of these products were invented in a world that most witches and wizards believe is not theirs.  But they are wrong.  We are a part of the Muggle world, and they are a part of ours. Latest survey data suggests that for every magical being in the world there are at least ten thousand Muggles.  That's ten thousand Muggles that have lived for millennia without magic.  That's ten thousand Muggles that have had to compensate for that by being smarter and more industrious than us. 

  

"We have broomsticks, Floo Networks, and Apparition to get us from place to place.  They have automobiles, and airplanes, and the Underground.  We fight our wars with wands and with magical beasts.  They fight theirs with guns and missiles and atomic bombs. 

  

"For this term," she continued, walking up to the board and picking up a piece of chalk, "we will be discussing the history of Muggle civilization. It will be a woefully vague overview, I’m afraid. Many professional historians in both the Muggle and magical communities devote their entire lives to studying very specific times and places in Muggle history. We will be focusing mostly on the history of Muggles in England and on the Continent, from ancient Greece to the modern European Union. But we will also devote a few weeks to other Muggle cultures in Asia, Africa, and the Americas.

  

"Future terms will spend considerable time on the Muggles’ systems of government, their forms of communication and transportation, as well as their entertainment and leisure activities. Um, yes, Mr. Scheeman?"

 

 Barry Scheeman, a Hufflepuff boy, lowered his hand. "Are we going to learn about those weird pink birds that they stick in front of their lawns?"

 

"Plastic flamingoes?"

 

"Is that what they’re called?" Barry asked in confusion. "Are those, like, something they use to send letters with? Some sort of owl replacement?"

 

Evelyn Bateman smiled in understanding. "Mr. Scheeman, you ask a wonderful question," she said. "And, yes, we will also spend some time on some of the more frivolous and trivial aspects of Muggle society. One of the major goals of this course will be to develop an understanding and recognition of what Muggle technology is important, and what is not.

 

"Because sometimes a plastic flamingo is simply a plastic flamingo."

 

\---------

 

"Now, who can tell me what this is?"

 

"Oh! Oh!"

 

"Mr. Smith?"

 

"That’s belladonna, sir," said Nathaniel Smith as he lowered his hand.

 

Neville Longbottom took a quick glance at the pot he was holding up to the class before nodding. "Good job. Five points."

 

"My mum has some in our garden."

 

"Alright then," said Neville, giving the boy a double take. "You don’t happen to be related to Zacharias Smith?"

 

"He’s my uncle," said Nathaniel, slightly uncomfortable. "But I don’t like him very much."

 

"Well, that makes two of us," said Neville with a smirk. "And can anyone tell me why belladonna is important?"

 

The greenhouse echoed with the silence of the first-years.

 

"Hmm," said Neville. "Have you had your class with Professor Alcahest yet?"

 

"We don’t start Potions till tomorrow, sir," said Sarah, who, Victoire was glad to see, had dried off from her encounter with Theresa earlier in the day.

 

"Well, then, maybe you won’t—"

 

"Oh, Potions!" Sarah interrupted loudly, her hand thrown into the air. "Those are in our potions kits!"

 

"Very good, Miss Harvey," said Neville. "Yes, indeed, belladonna is a common ingredient in many potions. Along with puffapod seeds, scurvy-grass, lovage, and about a half dozen other plants, belladonna is also in the standard potions kits required for all students. You buy them at the beginning of your first year, as you all have done, but you also need to refill them over time, which can come to be a very expensive proposition after seven years.

 

"So many of your lessons in your first year," he continued, "will involve learning how to plant, cultivate, and harvest these plants. You will also learn the proper method of preparing them for future use in your potion-making. Every one of you will be given their own box in greenhouse number four, set aside specifically for this project. Do well, and you won’t have to buy any more potions ingredients for the rest of your time here at Hogwarts.

 

"At least," Neville said with a shrug, "not any potion ingredients that don’t involve tearing the spines out of lionfish or grinding up newts’ eyeballs. That’s not in my job description."

 

Half of the class, which consisted of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, laughed at Neville’s comment, while the other half, Victoire among them, turned slightly green at the prospect of what awaited them in Potions tomorrow.

 

"Today we start easy," said Neville. "Please open your textbooks to page ten. The belladonna seeds should be in the bowl beside your pot. Follow the instructions with your partner, and please don’t hesitate to ask me any questions. I’ll walk around to see how everyone’s doing."

 

"Huh," Christine, Victoire’s partner, said with a shrug. "This isn’t that bad."

 

"No kidding," said Victoire as she scooped dirt into her empty pot. "My _Maman_ taught me how to plant herbs in the window box. This class should be a breeze."

 

"That’s what you think," one of the Hufflepuff boys whispered from across the table. "I heard one of the second-years got taken to the hospital wing already."

 

"No way," muttered Aaron Mills with a snort as he and Theresa looked at his book. "Probably just some older kid pulling your chain."

 

"No, I’m serious," the boy said. "Got hauled up, completely unconscious."

 

"Stop trying to scare us," whispered Chelsea Lemming, accidentally dumping a handful of dirt on Sam Welt’s textbook. "It’s not working. There’s no way that would have happened."

 

"Actually," said Professor Longbottom, approaching the small group, "it did happen."

 

"What happened to him?" asked the Hufflepuff boy.

 

"What’s your name again?" Neville asked.

 

"Patrick, sir," the Hufflepuff replied. "Patrick Gains."

 

"Well, Patrick," Neville continued, patting a friendly, but extremely dirty, hand on Gains’s shoulder. "Mandrakes happened."

 

"What are those?" asked Victoire.

 

"You’ll learn about them next year," said Neville. "But take my advice in advance: when I ask to put on your earmuffs, _you put on your earmuffs_."

 

"Sir?"

 

Neville turned to the other end of the room, where Nathaniel Smith and Sarah Harvey were stationed. "Yes, Mr. Smith? You have a question about the assignment?"

 

"Actually, no, sir," said Nathaniel. "I was just wondering what that thing was?"

 

Nate pointed to the far end of the greenhouse, where a huge corn-cob-like plant was sticking out of an enormous pot.

 

"Oh, that?" said Neville, smiling with pride. "That’s Titan Arum."

 

"What’s a Titan Arum?"

 

"It’s my baby."

 

\---------

 

"My name is Professor Longbottom," the woman said, scribbling the name across the blackboard, and then following it below with a series of unintelligible symbols. "When you’re in the halls, in the Great Hall, on the grounds, I would ask that you refer to me by that name, and that name alone. Quite a few of the professors in this school are sticklers for tradition, and you might find yourself dropped some points if they overhear you calling me by anything else."

 

Teddy chuckled. He had met this professor before, and he knew that, in her jeans and purple t-shirt, she was anything but traditional.

 

"But I am also aware," she continued, "that you have had my husband as a professor for the last two years, and will have him for at least three more. Maybe longer if you do well on his O.W.L.s. Having two Professor Longbottoms might screw you up a bit. So when you’re in this classroom, you can call me _Professor Longbottom, Professor Clavis, Uriela, Uri_ , whatever. Just don’t call me _baby_ , or you’ll find yourself in a shallow ditch somewhere between here and King’s Cross."

 

The class of about two dozen students laughed, Teddy among them.  _Yup_ , he thought, _Neville definitely got himself one with this woman_ …

 

"I’m not going to lie to you," Uriela continued, pushing herself up onto her desk, her legs dangling from the front. "This is a difficult class that you’ve gotten yourselves into. I know some of you signed up for my class simply because your friends already signed up, and you would rather hang out with them than sit in Professor Skryer’s Divination or Professor Vector’s Arithmancy. You’re in for a long, hard, slog, and you’d do well to bring a kettle of strong tea with you, because I _really_ do not approve of people falling asleep in my classroom."

 

Teddy heard a few students mumble to each other. And he knew that they were going to be in for a long year.

 

"Those of you who are interested in Ancient Runes," she continued as though not hearing those behind Teddy, "are in for a worse fate. There will be nights when you’re going to feel like your head is near explosion. Nights when your eyelids will be drooping because you need to get that one last sentence translated before bed. You might even find yourselves with a few flaming books if you mutter an ancient incantation that you don’t even recognize. I get it. It happened to me, too. Happened to everyone in my field.

 

"But I ask you to push through it. Battle through the fatigue, through the migraines, through the feeling that you just can’t cram any more information into that big brain of yours. Because when you do, when it clicks, a whole new world opens up for you."

 

When she said this last bit, Teddy recognized the look of love on his professor’s face.

 

"The world looks different to you when you understand Ancient Runes," she continued with a smile. "Because it is _everything_. The Romantic Languages--French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese and Romanian--are all based in Latin. English, German, and the Scandinavian languages are Germanic in origin. The Asian languages share the same root. So do those in Africa and the Americas.

 

"All of these languages are based in the Runic. There are many Runic scholars who can comprehend and speak every language on the planet, from Russian and Japanese down to Tiwi, an Aboriginal language spoken on one small island north of Australia, simply because they know and understand Ancient Runes.

 

"If you understand Runic," she said, standing up and pacing in front of the class, "You understand so much more. Every class that you have taken at Hogwarts, every class you may be taking this year, are connected to Ancient Runes. The potions instructions are translated from the Runic. The tarot cards in Divination have Ancient Runes woven into their images. The Runic alphabet contains Arithmantic formulae that would leave you gasping for air if you knew what they were capable of. Herbology, Charms, History of Magic, Transfiguration, the Dark Arts and the Light… all thanks to the teachings of our ancestors, passed down through the centuries, the millennia, in Ancient Runes."

 

Uriela smiled contentedly, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

 

"So," she said, "are we ready to begin?"

 

\---------

 

"Are we ready to begin?"

 

As Madam Rolanda Hooch walked between the two rows of students, Gryffindor and Slytherin, Victoire Weasley looked down uncomfortably at the grass that covered the Quidditch pitch. Her borrowed broomstick sat still, but to her it looked like a viper ready to strike.

 

_Oh, God, I’m not ready for this_ , Victoire thought.  _I_ hate _heights_.

 

"Now," Hooch said, "Stick your right hand over your broom and say ‘Up!’"

 

Victoire looked around at the rest of the class. Each was saying "Up," to varying degrees of success. Some got it on their first try, their broom already clutched in their hand, while others had no response.

 

"It’s no fair," Theresa moaned. "This is a crappy broom. The one I have at home doesn’t give me _any_ problems."

 

"Then perhaps you’re doing it wrong," said Hooch. "Once you learn how to control a strange broom, one that has been enchanted to your liking should be a breeze."

 

"Yeah, pay attention, Daulby," said a snaggle-toothed Slytherin from across the way. "I got it first try. What’s wrong with you?"

 

"Mr. Flint, I would suggest not speaking out in such a manner," said Madam Hooch. "I gave your father a very short leash when he misbehaved, and I will not hesitate to give the same to you."

 

When Madam Hooch was giving Riley Flint a tongue lashing, Victoire noticed out of the corner of her eye that Aaron, having not succeeded in getting his broom to jump into his hand, had quickly bent down and picked it up himself. When Hooch turned around, he was holding out to his side triumphantly.

 

"Very good, Mr. Mills," said Hooch.

 

"Thank you, ma’am."

 

"Miss Weasley?" she said, turning to Victoire. "Is there a problem?"

 

Victoire blinked. "Excuse me?"

 

"Are you having difficulty following my instructions?"

 

"Oh, no, ma’am…"

 

"Then why is your arm at your side?" Hooch asked. "And your mouth conspicuously closed?"

 

"Ma’am?"

 

"I asked you to do two things, Miss Weasley," Hooch said severely. "And at this point you have attempted neither of them."

 

"Oh… yeah…" Victoire said, her lip twitching nervously. "Yeah, sorry…" She looked down at the broom and her stomach dropped.

 

"We’re waiting for you, Miss Weasley," Hooch said, her arms now crossed. "We can’t continue unless every broom is airborne."

 

"Right…" Victoire said, swallowing hard. She held out her shaking right arm. Her head was pulled back, her eyes squinted, as if she was preparing to take a punch in the face, or expecting the broom to tear her arm off or carry her off to the Arctic Circle.

 

"Up?"

 

Victoire knew that nothing as bad as she had imagined would happen. So when the broom launched straight up and almost pulled her off the ground, it took her by fully prepared surprise.

 

"Is there a problem, Miss Weasley?"

 

"No… No, ma’am," Victoire said, both arms over her head as she struggled to pull the broom back down to her side. "I…. I think I got it…"

 

"Good," Hooch said as if this were a common occurrence. "Now, everyone mount your brooms by throwing your leg over. Like so." She demonstrated, flipping her leg over the handle like it was a bicycle. "If you try to pull yourself up from behind, you’ll find the bristles will become damaged, and you’ll also tend to slide right back off again. Make sure your hands are in the proper positions."

 

The students did as they were told. Victoire watched with admiration as Christine, Sarah, and Nathaniel sat themselves down with no issue. Theresa and Chelsea eventually got it right, as did many of the Slytherins. Aaron’s broomstick, never fully levitating to begin with, fell down uselessly to the ground as soon as he let it go.

 

And to Victoire’s amazement, she got on her own broomstick without any problems.

 

At least the getting on wasn’t any problem.

 

Staying on, though, became an issue when the broomstick quickly bucked backwards, tossing her ten feet into the air and landing her straight onto her back, knocking the wind out of her.

 

"Vic!" Christine and Sarah yelled at the same time, running over to help her to her feet.

 

"If you had been holding the broom properly," Hooch said, "that would not have been an issue."

 

"Lovely," Victoire croaked with her remaining breath as the two girls put her arms around their shoulders. "I hate brooms…"

 

\---------

 

"Open your texts to page twenty-three," said Professor Albert Alcahest, a pockmarked wizard with a stoop that may have toppled him completely if it weren’t for the cane holding him aloft, as he walked into the classroom.

 

Teddy and the other Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs did as they were told.

 

"Today, we will be concocting a simple Shrinking Potion," Alcahest explained. "The instructions are on the page before you, as well as on the blackboard. Those ingredients not in your potion kit can be found in the cabinet up front." He pointed his wand at the cabinet, which flung open.

 

"Please take particular note," he continued, "of what effect the sliced caterpillar has when used in relation to the chopped daisy root. You should all be aware of the properties of caterpillar, having learned them in my class last year. Be aware that there will be a homework assignment on the reaction of these ingredients."

 

Teddy and Jack exchanged a nervous glance.

 

"And begin!"

 

"What do we need?" Jack asked Teddy, leaning over to study the book.

 

"Well, we already have the daisy root and the shrivelfig from the greenhouse," said Teddy. "And there’s leech juice in our kit. We’re going to need… one caterpillar and one rat spleen."

 

"I’ll grab four of each," said Jack. "Two for each of us in case we fuck up."

 

"Good call," Teddy said as Jack walked up to the front and began wrestling his way to the ingredients cupboard.

 

"The properties of daisy root and caterpillar," Gavin muttered beneath his breath. "He can’t honestly think that we’d remember all of that, did he?"

 

"I think I might remember some of it," said Teddy.

 

"That’s more than I got," said Gavin as he started chopping his roots. "I try my best to forget everything when summer rolls around."

 

"Oh, it’s not that bad," said Jennifer. "I remember what the properties are."

 

"We’re talking about Gavin here," said Jack, returning with a handful of ingredients. "He had trouble remembering my name when the Hogwarts Express picked us up last week."

 

"Don’t listen to Horatio, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about," said Gavin with a smirk before his head was yanked backwards. "Ow! No hair-pulling!"

 

"Then don’t leave it out there for any of us to grab like a bloody church bell," said Jack, tossing his own roots into his cauldron.

 

"Children, settle down," Alcahest warned as he passed their table. "You should also take note of the effect any loose hair might have if mixed in with the potion."

 

"Sorry, Professor," said Jack, throwing an elbow into Gavin’s gut. "I always told him he needs a haircut."

 

"God, you sound like Ginny’s mum," said Teddy.

 

"Who I still haven’t met, by the way," said Jack. "Hell, I haven’t met any of the famous people you got around you."

 

"Yeah, well," Teddy shrugged. "They’re nothing special. I mean… are you really eager for me to meet your mum and dad?"

 

"Nah, my parents are a couple of wankers," said Jack, watching as the potion turned from a clear to a pale blue color. "But your godparents, they’re famous, you know?"

 

"Didn’t know celebrity was such a draw in our friendship, Pearson," Teddy drawled.

 

"Well, it’s not," said Jack. "But, still… it’d be cool to tell my folks that I met _the_ Harry Potter, you know?"

 

"Well," Teddy said with a sigh. "I suppose I could talk to my gran, see if she wouldn’t mind you visiting during the holiday."

 

"Wicked…"

 

"Oh, I think I recognize this potion!" Jennifer said. "Professor Alcahest, is this related to the De-Aging potion?"

 

"Yes, it is," said Alcahest. "But a much less predictable version, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t suggest using this Shrinking Potion to make yourself younger.  Anything but a specific dose and you could find yourself back as an embryo."

 

"Whoa," Gavin breathed.

 

"Yes, quite," said Alcahest. "This potion should be used primarily on plants and other organic compounds for storage purposes. I must say, Miss Devereau, you seem to have quite a grasp on the subject material."

 

"Thank you, sir," Jennifer said with an embarrassed shrug. "I read ahead a bit."

 

"Read ahead to fifth year?"

 

"I like to be prepared," she said simply.

 

"Very good," Alcahest said with a smile. "Then you should have no difficulties with tonight’s homework."

 

"We’ll see when I hand it in, I suppose."

 

Alcahest gave Jennifer a quick nod before turning to help one of the Hufflepuffs who had turned their potion into lime gelatin. Gavin threw a sideways glance at Devereau.

 

"So you know what the properties are of caterpillar and daisy root?" he asked.

 

"Yep," Jennifer said triumphantly.

 

"And you can do your homework tonight?"

 

"Of course!"

 

"And you’ll let me copy you?"

 

"Oh, hell no."

 

"Please?"

 

"You have to learn to do it by yourself," said Jennifer. "It would be cheating if I helped you too much."

 

"Even if I withhold our snog?"

 

Jennifer looked at Gavin and snorted. "Since when have you ever been able to withhold a snog?"

 

"Oh," Gavin said dangerously. "Just watch me…"

 

Jack looked over at Teddy. "What time do you got?"

 

Teddy pulled out his pocket watch. "Ten thirty five."

 

"Five Sickles that they don’t make it to noon."

 

"Oh, sod off," Gavin said, glaring at Jack.

 

"Yyyyyeah, no," Teddy said, stirring his potion. "I’m not willing to take that bet."

 

"So we can come visit, too, right, Ted?" Jennifer asked as she threw her spleen into the cauldron.

 

"Sure, why not?" said Teddy. "We’ll make a party of it."

 

"Cuz I want to meet your girlfriend."

 

"Oh, for God’s…" Teddy groaned, dropping the stirring stick into the cauldron. " _Hermione’s not my girlfriend_!"

 

"And yet your face gets all red whenever we bring her up," she continued. "Funny how that happens."

 

"We’ve been through this," Teddy said through gritted teeth. "And Potions is _not_ the time for me to repeat everything."

 

"Okay, okay, fine," said Jennifer innocently. "So, send your girlfriend an owl yet?"

 

Teddy’s head dropped onto the table in surrender. "No, I’m sending her one tonight."

 

"Good," Jennifer said with a little perk. "And you’re planning on stirring your potion, right?"

 

Teddy’s head leapt up, seeing that, since he stopped stirring, his potion had turned pink and developed a rotten egg odor. He fell back, groaning in frustration, as Professor Alcahest rang his bell.

 

"And time’s up!"

 

\---------

 

"What time is it again?"

 

"I don’t know," Christine said groggily to Victoire. "I can’t see my watch."

 

"It’s twelve past midnight," said Professor Sinistra. "And after you’ve been in this class long enough you will be able to figure out the time without looking at your watch. The moon’s position is all that you will need to decipher time, day, and month."

 

"But in the meantime…" Sam Welts, another fellow Gryffindor first year with short spiked hair, said. He was cut off by a jaw-cracking yawn.

 

"I don’t see what all of the fuss is about," said Sinistra. "I thought you would all enjoy being allowed to stay up this late."

 

Victoire tried to come up with a retort, but found her brain just wasn’t awake enough to produce one. She remembered begging her mum and dad to let her stay up past midnight when she was at home. But that was before enduring four days’ worth of classes.

 

"Now if you could all look through your telescopes," Sinistra continued, wandering around the top of the tower, where the students were all bundled up against the chill of autumn darkness, "we will be plotting the position of the planets. You will find that your textbooks and inks are enchanted to illuminate in the darkness, so _Lumos_ spells will not be needed."

 

"Not that we know how to do that, anyway," Theresa muttered under her breath. "Bosh taught us how to float feathers, no way that’s more useful than…"

 

"When you do learn how to cast _Lumos_ ," Sinistra said loudly, hearing every word that Theresa said in the quiet night, "it would still be suggested that you avoid using it during Astronomy class. Bright lights will only hinder your night vision, and make it more difficult to see the stars and write on your charts. Your texts and charts are at a level low enough where they will not give you retinal burn."

 

"Oh, thank _Merlin_ for that," Theresa said sarcastically.

 

"Get to work," Sinistra snapped. "And any more back talk from you, Miss Daulby, and you’ll find yourself in detention. Which, I might add, I hold _after class_. And I doubt your other professors would appreciate you pulling an all-nighter. I’ve heard those who have detention with me quickly find themselves with a backlog of punishments from falling asleep in class."

 

Theresa grumbled something unintelligible, but, to Victoire’s relief, turned back to her telescope with no further argument. She might have only been here a few days, but Victoire already wanted Gryffindor to win the House Cup. Having someone like Daulby in their House probably didn’t help their chances, so Victoire would take any defusing she could get.

 

_Okay,_ she thought with a sigh, turning back to her own telescope.  _Chart the planets. Chart the planets… Mercury…_

 

_Mercury…_

_Merc…_

 

\---------

 

"Hey, Teddy!"

 

Teddy, Carla, and Edmund were halfway across the grounds when he saw Victoire jogging down from the castle.

 

"Hey, Vic," he said as she met up with the group, other third years passing four when they stopped. "What are you doing out here?"

 

"I’m done for the day," she replied, squinting in the sunlight. "I promised Hagrid at the station that I’d come visit him, but I haven’t had a chance. What about you three?"

 

"We just got done with Care of Magical Creatures," said Edmund. "You timed it pretty well, I think Hagrid’s done with his classes, too."

 

"Yeah, I think he should be done packing by now," said Teddy, taking a quick glance back at Hagrid’s hut.

 

"Oh," Victoire said, slightly disappointed. "I was hoping I could see something cute."

 

"Hagrid’s definition of _cute_ is a little different than most people’s," said Edmund.

 

"Well, there’s Fang…" said Teddy.

 

"But they _were_ kind of cute today," Carla said. "A little vulgar, perhaps, but…"

 

"How bout this?" Teddy said to Victoire. "I’m done till dinner. Want me to come with you? Maybe I can talk him into showing you some stuff."

 

"Sure!" Victoire said with a bright smile.

 

"Cool," he said, adjusting his bag on his back and turning to his friends. "I’ll see you at dinner, right?"

 

"We’ll save you a spot," said Carla, and she and Edmund turned to continue their journey back to the school. Teddy and Victoire watched them for a few moments before turning on their heels and walking towards Hagrid’s hut.

 

"So I haven’t had a chance to talk to you much this week," Teddy said as they walked.

 

"Yeah, I know," Victoire said. "It’s been busy. I’m still trying to get used to everything."

 

"Doing okay so far?"

 

"Mostly," she said with a shrug. "I fell asleep in Astronomy."

 

Teddy burst out laughing. "You too, huh?"

 

"Pretty common, huh?"

 

"Oh, yeah," said Teddy. "You get used to it eventually. In the meantime, you can use History of Magic to catch up on your naptime. I swear, Binns would probably keep lecturing even if everyone decided to skip. And he wouldn’t even know anyone was gone."

 

"Yeah, I got that impression, too," said Victoire with a small chuckle. "He is a little dry, isn’t he?"

 

"No, mummies are little dry," said Teddy as they approached the hut. "Binns is a bloody desert."

 

Victoire’s laugh carried across the grounds, loud enough to get the attention of the big old boarhound inside the hut. Fang blasted his way through the door and towards the students, knocking Teddy onto his back.

 

"Down, Fang!" Hagrid yelled as he came around from the back of the hut, a cage in his right hand. With his other, he grabbed Fang by the collar. "You’re getting his robes all dusty!"

 

"The robes are fine," said Teddy, wiping dog slobber from his face.

 

"What are you doin’ here, Teddy?" Hagrid asked. "Didja ferget…? Oh, hullo, Victoire!"

 

"Hi, Hagrid," said Victoire, petting Fang, who was sniffing around her clothes. She was grateful that she had changed out of her robes and into jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. The house-elves wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning Fang snot out of them before classes started again on Monday.

 

"I was wonderin’ when you were comin’ down here," he said, a broad grin buried in his beard. "Enjoyin’ your firs’ week, are yeh?"

 

"I’m getting used to it," she said, bending down. "What’s that?"

 

"Oh, this?" Hagrid said, lifting the cage. "This here’s a Jarvey. Teddy can tell yeh all abou’ ‘em, since I taught ‘im about ‘em today, righ’, Teddy?"

 

"Um, yeah, sure," Teddy said as the ferret-like creature, about the size of a terrier, crawled its way around the cage. "It’s a carnivorous animal. Pretty normal except that it…"

 

" _Bollocks_!" the creature squeaked.

 

"…That it can talk," he said. "Just not very well…"

 

"Yar," said Hagrid. "Right little pottymouth this one has."

 

" _Cocksucker_!"

 

"Sorry bou’ that," said Hagrid. "This one’s been spendin’ a little too much time with the Slytherins, I think. He doesn’t even really know what he’s sayin’."

 

" _Shite-eating arseface_!"

 

"I think I’ll put ‘im away fer a bit," Hagrid stammered, the skin showing through his black bush turning bright pink. "Be ri’ back."

 

"So," said Victoire as Hagrid walked around to the back of the hut, "what are you doing this weekend?"

 

"Not much," said Teddy. "I have a meeting with Mackenzie tonight."

 

"Who’s that?"

 

"Oh, Mackenzie Cairill," he said. "He’s my metamorph coach. I never told you about him?"

 

"You might have," Victoire said with a shrug as she sat down on an empty crate. "It’s not like we’ve talked much outside of, you know, holidays. The things you do and don’t tell me kinda blend after a while."

 

"Yeah, I know," said Teddy, sitting down next to her. "I suppose we have a lot more time to hang out now, huh?"

 

Victoire snorted laughter. "I don’t think I’m going anywhere."

 

"I will admit that it’s going to be weird," Teddy said. "Having someone here who I actually know from outside of school."

 

"Yeah," said Victoire. "I guess I’ll have James and Fabian to deal with in a few years—"

 

"I don’t envy you there," Teddy said wryly.

 

"—But, yeah, until then it’s just me and you."

 

"Sounds fine to me," he said. "You’re good people."

 

"Thanks," she said with a small smile. "So, have you heard from Caroline yet?"

 

"No," Teddy said. When his friends asked about Hermione Caroline, he had a tendency to lash out at them. But Victoire knew her already, and had a decent idea of the entire situation. "No, I promised I’d write her tonight, so I’ll probably do that after Metamorphing."

 

"Tell her I say 'hi'?"

 

"Of course."

 

"All righ’," Hagrid said as he came back around to the front. "Peekie’s all put down for the night."

 

"Peekie?" Victoire said in disbelief.

 

"And you’re just in time," said Hagrid with a wink. "Come on, Victoire. I wanna introduce you to someone."

 

"And does the someone have something to do with the dead squirrel you’re carrying?"

 

"Maybe," Hagrid said brightly, oblivious to the tone of mild nausea in Victoire’s voice. "Come on."

 

"Come on," Teddy said with a smile that matched Victoire. "You’ll be fine."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"I’m pretty sure I know where we’re going," he said. "Don’t worry about it."

 

Victoire hesitated, and then pushed herself off of the crate and followed Teddy and Hagrid a short distance into the forest until they reached a clearing.

 

"What are we looking for?" she asked.

 

"Hang on," said Hagrid. He put his fingers to his mouth and let out a short, shrill whistle. Moments later, Victoire squealed with fright, grabbing Teddy’s arm instinctively as a giant, winged, half-horse, half-bird walked out to Hagrid.

 

"Vic, it’s okay," said Teddy quietly. "Do you know who that is?"

 

Victoire looked up at Teddy and, realizing what she was doing, quickly released herself from his arm. "Sorry," she said, apologizing for a few things in one word.

 

"Now, Victoire," Hagrid chided, "I’ve talked about him a few times aroun’ you and your folks. Surely you recognize him."

 

"What are…? Wait…" Victoire took a small step forward. "Is that _Buckbeak_?"

 

"Yeah," said Hagrid proudly. "He’s not as young as he used to be, but… inin’ he gorgeous?"

 

"Merlin’s pants…" she breathed. "He’s beautiful."

 

"Told you you didn’t have to be scared," said Teddy.

 

"Do you wanna say 'hi'?" Hagrid asked. "You like him already. He knows it."

 

"S…Sure…"

 

"Alrigh’, then," he said. "Now, what yeh do is you walk forward slowly. Keep eye contact. He’s a mite skittish aroun’ strangers, that’s why I haven’t brought him to Shell Cottage ter meet yeh earlier. Tha’s good… Now bow to him, and see if he bows back."

 

Victoire did as she was told. Stepping forward gingerly, she bent at the waist, breaking eye contact with the giant orange eyes. Within moments, Buckbeak returned the bow with one of his own.

 

"Good job, Victoire, good job!" Hagrid said. "Blimey, tha’s fantastic, I’ve never seen Bucky reac’ to anyone so quickly. He mus’ really like you, Vickie. You’ve got a natural talen’, there. Can’ wait to have you in me class in a few years."

 

"I can’t wait to be there," said Victoire with a huge grin as she approached the hippogriff. As she stroked his beak, Teddy Lupin looked on with a warm smile, and Victoire Weasley knew that this was where she belonged.

 


	33. Thirteen and a Half Years Later: Jareth

 

Thirteen and a Half Years Later

Jareth

\---------

 

“You’re going out again?”

“Yeah, I am.” 

“Where do you keep going?”

“I just like to go out. Get some air, you know?” 

“You know you’re going to get into trouble one of these days. You keep getting dangerously close to curfew.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s not like I’m sneaking out to shag some guy, or anything.” 

“Then what do you do out there? It’s fucking freezing outside.”

“Nothing. I just walk. Write in my diary.” 

“You get all weird before you go out, though.”

“Look who’s talking…” 

“Maybe if the housemistress comes by I can say I have no idea where you are?”

“And maybe I could tell the housemistress about the pack of fags you have in your pillowcase?” 

“…”

“One hour. Tops. If you get nervous I can go run the shower, and you can tell the housemistress I’m in there. I doubt she’d check on me if she thinks I’m starkers.” 

“…Alright, Alright. Go. God, I don’t know why I put up with you sometimes.”

“Because we’re roommates. Lack of options.” 

\---------

Sure, it was cold. January nights in England are always that way. 

But as the girl bundled her jacket close to her body, making sure to keep her “journal” tucked under her arm from falling to the snow-covered, she decided that it couldn’t have been nicer, otherwise. 

Others would complain, of course. “Why does it have to be so cold? I miss summer!” But she knew better. Winter was the best season, especially on nights like this. Very little wind, just cool enough to keep her nose comfortably numb. And if you didn’t like it, she was sure that Egypt had some very nice homes available. When it was dark, and the world had quieted down a little, she could almost pretend like she was in some other place, some other time. 

_Almost like Narnia_ , she thought as she entered the sparse forest, the trees casting pale moonlight shadows across the snow.

She reached into her coat pocket, just to make sure she had remembered it. And there it was, wrapped in the napkin she could feel crinkling through her gloved fingers: the roll she had swiped from the table at dinner earlier this evening. She needed to make sure she had her payment with her, after all. 

And there was the payee, perched on a stump, just as she was promised. A beautiful barn owl:  it had struck both of them as perfect when he got it as a present from his godfather three summers ago. He even knew what to name it.

“Hello, Jareth,” Hermione Caroline Granger said with a warm smile. When her older sister was eight years old, her parents had given her a film about a teenage girl who was forced to rescue her baby brother from a terrible king and his goblin minions. Even then, being the type of girl who always preferred documentaries and dramas to science fiction and fantasy, Jean only watched the movie once or twice before relegating it to the back of the video cabinet. 

Until her baby sister was born, that is. 

Charlotte Granger pulled the dusty VHS cassette out on a day when a seven-year-old Hermione Caroline complained that she had already watched all of her films and wanted to see something new. 

Despite it being nearly twenty years old, _Labyrinth_ hooked Hermione completely. Being as young as she was, there were definitely some nightmare-inducing moments, but nothing like some of the other films she had been introduced to her in her need to connect to her sister’s world of amazing creatures, fantastic worlds, and, most importantly, magic.

Despite the scene with The Fire Gang, Hermione watched it religiously for years. Every time her best friend, Ted, came over, they either watched it or had it playing in the background while they played with their other toys. When she wore out the videocassette, her parents bought her the DVD of the movie, and the HD DVD after that. It was still in her current film rotation, fifteen or twenty films that she could toss in to watch when she was bored or doing homework. Sometimes when she was bored _while_ doing homework. 

At first, her roommate, Danielle, complained about having to watch it (“ _But David Bowie’s so creepy, and look at that_ hair!”), but after a while, found herself drawn in, and would even request it on occasion.

It didn’t escape her cruel sense of irony ( _Is it irony?_ she thought.  _Tough to tell sometimes_ ) that while her older sister, she of textbooks and The History Channel, found herself in a world that Hermione only dreamed of while she, the girl who loved everything there was to love about Tolkien, Lewis, White, and Zimmer Bradley, was stuck in a decidedly non-magical girls’ boarding school in Oxford. 

So now the girl who found tales of dragons and heroics dull and unrealistic was now casting magic spells for a living. Hermione’s brother in law, her niece and nephew, Jean’s friends, all witches and wizards. Even Hermione’s best friend, a magician in his own right, and the only boy who Hermione ever…

_Don’t,_ she said to herself.  _Stop with the pity fest. You’re here. You’re not one of them. Live with it. As for Ted, he seems to have made his decision about you two. If there’s something in him, something with feelings for you past friendship, he won’t let it out because he doesn’t think it would work. Don’t try to talk him out of it. If you try to guilt him into something… That’s not what you want, and you know it._

“Glad to see you, Jareth,” Hermione said to the barn owl, who was named after The Goblin King himself, who could turn himself into a barn owl. It had been down to that name or Bubo, after the mechanical owl from _Clash of the Titans_ , another of Hermione and Teddy’s favorites growing up.

“I think Jareth works better, though,” Ted had said as they walked through Diagon Alley. “Bubo was cool, but it’s the kind of name that’s too easy to make fun of.” 

Hermione didn’t care in the end what the owl was named. The fact was that Jareth was the only link that she currently had to the magical world, to her Ted. They had been writing to each other through her parents for the first year or so. But after a while, as teenagers usually do, they felt like their private conversations were too… well… private to be handled by middlemen, especially middlemen like Mum and Dad.

So they still kept up the public discourse. Nothing too interesting, just banalities. Just to keep up the façade. Their real conversations occurred here, one night a week, when Ted would send Jareth directly to Headington. 

If her parents knew that she was sneaking out so close to curfew, they wouldn’t be very happy. Hermione didn’t think that she would ever get into trouble with her housemistress, especially since she held enough dirt on others in her boarding house that she didn’t think they would snitch. But if someone did, or if the housemistress ever caught her… well, she would handle that if that ever came.

As for the increasingly large pile of letters that she kept in her room, letters that spoke explicitly of the world of Ted, Jean, and Hogwarts… she felt safer about those, at least. Ted had taken care of that for her last Christmas. 

“Harry has a bag with the same kind of magic,” he had said as she pulled the small oak box, almost like a jewelry case, out of its wrappings. “It can’t be opened by anyone but the owner. That’s why the lock’s on the front.” At that, he pointed to a keyhole. “It doesn’t really lock, but anyone who tries to open it will just think that you’re carrying a key. Perfect cover for Muggles.”

She had wanted to kiss him then. She had wanted to kiss him a lot in the past few years, ever since that invisible line was crossed at some point in the past when Ted stopped being “Ted” and started being “ _TED (!!!!)_.” The courage to get her lips moving never came. 

Jareth, recognizing that this was his intended target, flapped his wings and floated toward Hermione, who put out her arm as a perch.

“Got a letter for me, love?” she asked quietly. The owl hooted in assent, and put its leg out. She awkwardly untied the parchment from it, knowing that it would probably be easier to have Jareth continue to sit on the stump, but wanting the contact anyway. 

“I have something for you, too,” she said, quickly putting the parchment in her pocket to free her hand. “Do you mind staying while I write my letter back to him?”

Jareth hooted again, fluttering his wings briefly. Hermione pulled the dinner roll out of her pocket and unwrapped the napkin. 

“Sorry I don’t have any meat,” she said. “I know you’re not a fan of pork, and that’s what we had tonight. Where do you want to eat?”

Jareth pushed himself airborne, grabbed the roll with his talons before Hermione even recognized his attack, and glided over to a nearby boulder, leaving the stump free for Hermione to sit on. 

“Thanks,” she said, walking to the stump. “Feel free to go do some hunting, too. I’ll be here when you get back, I promise. I hear the voles are particularly tasty around here.”

The barn owl hooted once more and went to work on the roll. Hermione pushed aside the pile of snow on the stump and, setting herself down, pulled Ted’s letter, which appeared to be several pages long, from her pocket and began to read. 

 

> _Hermione,_
> 
> _I hope Jareth gets to you all right. The weather’s looking a little nasty while I write this, and I’m not sure if it’s going to be letting up by the time I finish writing._
> 
> _He’s strong, though; he can handle a lot. He’s got goblin blood in him, after all._
> 
> _Did you get back to Headington in one piece? All of your Christmas presents made it without any problems? I don’t know about you, but I’ve had problems finding a place for all of my new junk in the Gryffindor dormitory. When you have five boys trying to take up a small amount of space it can be a little bit of a hassle._
> 
> _Jack wanted me to tell you that he was really glad to meet you over holiday. He says that you’re really cool. And he also told me to tell you that he thinks you’re “right sexy,” but I don’t think that would be most appropriate thing to write in this letter._
> 
> _Oh, wait…_
> 
> _Jenn and Gavin are telling me to give similar reports, but to omit the “sexy” part. “Nothing personal,” Jenn’s saying over my shoulder as I write this, “but I don’t go that way.”_
> 
> _This was the first time any of the three of them had spent any time with a Muggle, and they thought it was a really interesting experience: the cinema, the video games, the music. Gavin even asked me to get a copy of your Radiohead and your Flogging Molly, and Jenn particularly liked your Evanescence CDs. A burned CD or an iPod wouldn’t work around here, though, so they’re out of luck._
> 
> _Actually…They do have record players. Do you think any of those albums are available on vinyl?_
> 
> _All in all, we made Carla a particularly jealous girl. She’s in Professor Bateman’s Muggle Studies class with me, and she’s starting to really get interested in what everyone around here calls “the other side.” Her parents dragged her off on a trip to Finland to visit her brother, though, so she couldn’t come. She does say hi, though, and was wondering if you might be interested in letting her borrow some things. We have to write a paper on Muggle journalism, and she was wondering if you could owl a newspaper or two. She promises to make it worth your while, and will buy you something from Zonko’s during the next Hogsmeade weekend._
> 
> _That’s for later, though…_
> 
> _Victoire says hi, too, and sorry that she didn’t get a chance to see you during holiday. She and her folks were in Romania visiting Charlie._
> 
> _It’s amazing how well she’s doing here for her first year. Remember how when you and I were both eleven, starting the whole boarding thing, how terrible it was to find friends or something to do? Victoire’s doing gangbusters. She and her friends Christine and Sarah are already inseparable, and she’s doing well in most of her classes._
> 
> _  
> Except flying. She can’t stand flying. I’ve even let her borrow my Thunderbolt, which is a lot easier to fly than the ones the school puts out for practice, but still no go. Anything over two feet up and she starts losing her nerve. I guess she’s just going to have to live with the Floo or with riding shotgun for the rest of her life, at least till she learns to Apparate._
> 
> _Harry says your sister’s the same way, though. Did you know she was afraid of heights?_
> 
> _Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you: we won our first Quidditch match this year! That puts us at one and one, and our points aren’t looking that bad. It was just too bad that we had to face Ravenclaw at the beginning of the season. I couldn’t get the Quaffle past Hogan to save my life._
> 
> _Thankfully Slytherin didn’t do much better against them last week. Ravenclaw’s the odds-on favorite to win the Quidditch Cup, though, which is too bad. Jack tried to convince Christine, Freddy Hogan’s sister, to give him something out of the Wheezes’ Skiving Snackboxes before the match._
> 
> _She didn’t go for it, though._
> 
> _Oh, shite, I lost track of my train here, where was I? Oh, yeah, Victoire. Like I said, she’s doing really well, I think she’s found her place here. She absolutely loves Hagrid’s creatures, and goes down to his hut at least once a week to see what he was teaching the older students that day._
> 
> _Nathaniel (that’s another Gryffindor first year) keeps trying to convince her that it’s a waste of time, since she’d be studying the same creatures for credit in two years if she decided to take Hagrid’s class. But I think Victoire doesn’t really mind if she gets a repeat. She’s doing well enough on her homework where she can afford this extra time._
> 
> _She tends to ignore Nate, anyway. It’s pretty obvious that he fancies her, so she thinks that he’s just trying to keep her out of danger, or something._
> 
> _Either way, I think that she’s already found her future career, and she’s not even twelve yet. Weird, huh?_
> 
> _Oh, I almost forgot! Guess who was in our Defense Against the Dark Arts class on Wednesday._
> 
> _Harry!_
> 
> _I know, it’s weird. He came in to give a special class for everyone in DADA between third and seventh year. I guess he was actually asked to do it last year, but he decided in the end that he wanted to wait a year. He told me it was because he wanted to wait for me to be in his first class, but I don’t know. Neville and Uri talked to him about it the night that they had announced their engagement. I think he just had to decide if he was ready to step back into some type of spotlight again._
> 
> _I suppose I could see why, though. He told us about what happened during his Hogwarts years: the Chamber of Secrets, the Triwizard Tournament, the search for the Horcruxes. He glossed over a lot of stuff, obviously, I would be surprised if he didn’t. He spent a lot of time talking about the spells that he found useful, the potions and charms that had come in handy, and even mentioned your sister’s knowledge of Ancient Runes as being a great help._
> 
> _But when it came to the question and answer session, it got weird. Half of the questions were real, class-related questions. What spell did you use in the graveyard, what happened with you in regards to using the Unforgivable Curses in wartime, that kind of thing._
> 
> _But, unfortunately, there were a few questions from people who read a little too much of the gossip columns. A few people wanted to know about his relationship with Ginny. Or what it was like to hang out with a werewolf like my dad, and if he had ever been afraid of being bitten. One person asked if he had ever dated Jean._
> 
> _He did a good enough job handling those questions, though. Hopefully after a few years, the students will realize that he and Ginny are really boring people, and they’ll stop being interested in his personal life._
> 
> _I heard the older students got a wicked class, though. Harry actually taught them magic. More specifically, he talked to Professor Squall and figured out some spells that Squall wasn’t teaching, but Harry had taught when he was in charge of Dumbledore’s Army. One of the fifth years even said that they had learned how to cast a Patronus._
> 
> _I can’t wait till I’m a fifth year._
> 
> _Holy shite, how many pages have I written so far? You really have to start telling me when I’m rambling, Hermione. I still haven’t even gotten to the good part._
> 
> _At least, I think it’s the good part._
> 
> _It might be the part where I piss you off, or scare you, or something…_
> 
> _Okay, it’s a half-hour later. I’ve just been pacing around the dorm, trying to get up the courage to say what I want to say, and trying to figure out the right way to say it._
> 
> _Here we go…_
> 
> _I miss you._
> 
> _I miss you a lot. The last Hogsmeade weekend, right before Christmas, I kept thinking “Man, I wish Hermione was here. She would love this. We would have such a good time.”_
> 
> _But, being the dense thirteen-year-old that I am, I didn’t even really figure it out then._
> 
> _I didn’t even figure it out during holiday, when seeing you lit me up more than anything._
> 
> _Like I said, I miss you. And I’m getting all rambly. You REALLY have to tell me when to stop that._
> 
> _Okay, so here we go._
> 
> _Next month, we have a third Hogsmeade trip. It’s the Saturday before Valentine’s Day, 12 February. I was wondering if you wanted to meet up. I don’t know what the policy is for getting out of your school on weekends. I’m guessing you need your parents’ permission, or something._
> 
> _Actually, I suppose you need your parents involved one way or another, since you’d have to Floo to Hogsmeade. But I think it would be more fun if they didn’t come. If they’re nervous about that, just tell them that the level of supervision is extreme during the trip. Most of the professors come down, and they keep their eyes open for any trouble._
> 
> _It will be really fun. Hogsmeade during Hogwarts trips is a blast. If you wanted to hang out with Jack and Gavin and the others, I would understand. But I’m actually hoping that it could just be the two of us._
> 
> _Since it’s Valentine’s Day and all._
> 
> _Am I asking you out on a date? A real, honest to God date? I think I am. This is the part where I’m trying my best not to scare you off. Like I said, I’ve missed you. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. For the last two and a half years most of my friends have been convinced that you and I are already dating, and, quite honestly, I like the idea._
> 
> _I just don’t know where you stand on us. If you just want to be friends, I can completely understand, disregard this whole last chunk of letter and pretend that it ended with the Patronus talk. I know the long-distance thing is already a pain, and it wouldn’t be any easier if we’re dating._
> 
> _Okay, that was a stupid thing to say. It’s just a date. It doesn’t even have to be a date. It can just be as friends. If you only want to be friends, I can live with that._
> 
> _Oh, God, please stop me before I kill again, I’m starting to sound like Sam from the first Transformers movie. Smooth, Teddy, smooth._
> 
> _If you’re interested, and available, please write back to me as soon as possible. I have a feeling you’re sitting in the middle of the woods, probably on a stump, with Jareth waiting for you while chewing on a shrew or something. So you’ll probably be writing back tonight. He’s an impatient bird._
> 
> _Like I said, I hope you say yes. If you do, I’ll be happy. But if you don’t, seriously, no skin off my back. I’m just as happy with you as a friend or as something more. So don’t take my feelings into account if you’re not interested._
> 
> _  
> I hope to hear from you soon,_
> 
> _Ted_
> 
> _  
> PS: Neville and Uri say hi._
> 
> _PPS: So does Hagrid._
> 
> _PPPS: Seriously, if you’re not interested, or if you think this is a bad idea, I’ll understand. I just want to know one way or another._

 

Hermione sat dumbfounded. One gloved hand clutching the letter, the other was held over her hanging mouth in shock. 

Her lip twitched into a bewildered smile.

She had to contain herself from squealing with joy, knowing that that would be sure to attract attention from the housemistress inside.  

But she didn’t have to contain herself from unabashedly kissing the letter and grinning like a five-year-old on Christmas morning.

“Jareth!” she whispered loudly. “I don’t have much to write, so get ready to head out soon.” 

The barn owl, who had indeed caught a shrew ( _Why that boy isn’t in Divination is beyond me,_ she thought perkily), just hooted softly once before returning to his meal.

Hermione placed her journal on her lap, flipped it to the front page, half of the pages torn out from previous letters, clicked her ball-point pen, and responded. 

 

> _You had me at “I miss you,” you big git._
> 
> _I’ll talk to my parents about getting me out of here that weekend. If they let me go to Hogsmeade, then good for both of us. If they’d rather I not go, I’ll just come up with an excuse to go to Harry and Ginny’s. I’m sure they’ll let me disappear for a few hours without ratting us out._
> 
> _What’s life without a little danger?_
> 
> _I’d write more, but I want to get this sent as quickly as I can. We’ll have plenty of time to talk during Hogsmeade weekend!_
> 
> _Oh, and in case I wasn’t clear:_
> 
> _Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes._
> 
> _  
> Love always,_
> 
> _Hermione_
> 
> _PS: You’re cute when you ramble. Keep it up._
> 
> _PPS: Did I happen to say YES?_

 


	34. Fifteen Years Later: The OBHWF Special

Fifteen Years Later

The OBHWF Special

\---------

 

Ah, Christmas Eve. 

 

When Arthur Weasley received the Burrow from his family in… well… it had to be approaching fifty years ago now… he and his bright, cheerful wife didn’t know what they would do with all of the space that had suddenly been given them. 

 

That was, of course, before seven children. Over fifty years and a dozen additions later, the Weasley family finally found a new equilibrium in the size of their house. They could comfortably fit every child, plus the occasional friend or relative, within its confines, and there was no difficulty setting them around the kitchen table, even during the holidays when the eldest sons would return from their various journeys. 

 

But then the marriages started happening. 

 

And the grandchildren. 

 

Suddenly, Molly and Arthur found that a Weasley Family Christmas couldn’t involve everyone sitting around the table sharing a meal anymore. Heck, they had a difficult enough job stuffing everyone into the sitting room _after_ the Weasley Christmas dinner to watch the many, _many_ grandchildren open their presents. 

 

A family of nine had in ten years grown to a family of twenty-three, not even including the occasional family guest. And it meant the creation of what was the most dreaded word to many: 

 

The Children’s Table. 

 

Or, in the Weasleys’ case, two Children’s Tables. 

 

“ _Muuuum_!” 

 

“James, leave your brother alone!” Ginny Potter called instinctively from the other room. 

 

James Potter instinctively pulled his fork away from Albus’s plate, hiding it quickly in his lap. 

 

“How did she know it was me?” he whispered to Teddy Lupin who, along with his grandmother, had been invited to every Weasley Family Christmas, and most of the Granger family's, since the end of the war. 

 

“Who else would it be?” Rose Weasley said in response to James's question. 

 

“I don’t know,” James said with a shrug. “Fabian?” 

 

Fabian Weasley, with glasses and bright red hair a mirror image of his father, paused, a forkful of beans halfway to his mouth, and glanced incredulously over at the table where James, Teddy, Albus, and Rose sat along with the youngest Potter, Lily. 

 

“Don’t worry about it, Fabian,” Rose said. “James is just being a prat.” 

 

“I am not,” James mumbled. “It’s not my fault Al got more goose than I did.” 

 

“No, I didn’t!” Albus replied. 

 

“Yeah, you did,” James insisted. “Look, you got loads more than I do!” 

 

“No, he doesn’t!” Rose said, leaning over to James’s area with her fork poised. 

 

“Don’t touch my food!” James yelled as Rose pushed it around his plate. 

 

“See?” she said, pointing triumphantly. “You have some under your potatoes. So leave Albus alone.” 

 

“Thanks, Rose,” Albus said with a relieved sigh. 

 

“No problem,” Rose replied. “Do you want some of my stuffing? I don’t like the apple.” 

 

“Okay,” Albus said, leaning over and taking a scoop from her plate. 

 

“This is gross,” said James, glaring down at his plate. “Now you _have_ to give me some of yours, Al.” 

 

“No!” Albus replied, pulling his plate closer to him. 

 

“But I can’t eat this!” James said. “It has Rose drool all over it.” 

 

“No, it doesn’t,” Rose said as Lily giggled. “I used a clean fork.” 

 

“I saw goop on it…” 

 

“James,” Teddy said with a sigh, “let it be, alright?” 

 

“Okay, Teddy,” James said, suddenly much more agreeable. 

 

_He has no problem giving other people shite,_ Teddy thought as he leaned back wearily. _But he’ll do whatever gets Big Brother Teddy’s approval._

 

As he leaned back, he felt a soft lump between his shoulder blades, and knew it could only be one thing. 

 

“Children’s Table, yeah?” said Victoire Weasley from the other table, leaning back at the same time as Teddy and bumping her head against his back. 

 

“Children’s Table,” Teddy said with a chuckle. As the only two teenagers of the Weasley Family Christmas, Teddy and Victoire were traditionally the ones put in charge of the often unruly Weasley and Potter children.  Of course, wherever Teddy sat, James and Albus wanted to sit. Which was where Rose and Lily wanted to sit. Which left Victoire at the spare table with nine-year-old Fabian and four giggly five-year-olds. 

 

Teddy couldn’t decide which of them had it better. 

 

“One of these days,” Victoire said with a sigh, back to back with Lupin. 

 

“Yeah, right,” said Teddy. “Unless some space starts opening up in the kitchen we’re stuck here by default. At least until some of this lot start having kids of their own.” 

 

“Why aren’t you sitting with the grownups?” Fred asked Victoire. “You’re old!” 

 

“They can’t,” said Hugo, breaking away from a whispered conversation with Matilda and Gideon. “They have the Trace. No one can sit at the grownup’s table if they have the Trace.” 

 

“Nuh uh!” said Matilda. 

 

“Yuh huh!” Hugo said. “That’s what my dad says!” 

 

“Your daddy doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” said Matilda. “I was able to sit with my daddy last year at the grownup’s table after they ate!” 

 

“Well, that’s because you were sitting on his _lap_ ,” said Gideon as though explaining that the sky was blue. “Not the chair.” 

 

“Oh, Lord,” Victoire moaned, shifting her head so that it landed on Teddy’s shoulder. “When do we go back to Hogwarts?” 

 

“Another week,” said Teddy reaching up to pat her head. “Don’t worry. You’ll survive. You have to. What would Buckbeak do without you?” 

 

“Good point,” said Victoire. “You want the rest? I can’t eat another bite.” 

 

Teddy reached behind him and took the plate from Victoire’s hand. Pulling it back around to himself, he looked down at it. “There’s, like, half of it still left. Not hungry?” 

 

“Trying to watch my girlish figure.” 

 

“Yeah, right,” Teddy snorted. 

 

“Okay, okay, I have a stomachache,” Victoire admitted. “Beyond that, you don’t want to know.” 

 

“Girl problems?” 

 

Victoire let out a noise that was half gasp, half laugh.  “Are you seriously asking me that?” she whispered to him.

 

“I have a girlfriend,” Teddy whispered back. “And many, many female friends.  Trust me when I say I’ve heard it all.  And then some.” 

 

“What girl problems?” Matilda asked. 

 

“You’ll know when you’re older,” Victoire said quickly to her little sister. “Otherwise, _no_. Fred, put that box down!” 

 

“I’m not opening it!” Fred, who was sitting closest to the tree, said, putting the wrapped package back on the pile. “I think I know what it is, I just wanted to shake it to be sure!” 

 

“One more week,” said Teddy as Victoire shook her head wearily. “Then we can get back to the Great Hall and some mature conversation.” 

 

\---------

 

“You know, Percy,” George said. “I love you like a brother.” 

 

“You _are_ my brother…” 

 

“That being said,” George continued. “I thought you might want to open your present from me a little early?” 

 

George pulled a small package in shiny wrapping from his lap. 

 

“No,” Verity Weasley said from beside him. 

 

“It’s just a little present…” 

 

“ _No_.” 

 

“It’s nothing!” 

 

“I recognize that box,” said Verity. “Those are Purple Pudge-Producing Pasties, aren’t they?” 

 

George opened his mouth to answer. Closed it. Opened it. “No?” 

 

“You can’t fool me,” said Verity. “I stock those things every day. I’m eating, love. I’ll lose my appetite if I have to stare at an infected Percy over my pudding.” 

 

“ _Infected_?” Percy gasped. Penelope put her hand over her mouth to cover a laugh, and George looked at his wife. 

 

“You always ruin my fun,” he said grumpily as he set the package back on the floor. 

 

“Why do you think I married you, George?” she asked, patting his leg. “It was for the good of all mankind. If I wasn’t here, you would have started the Apocalypse by now, I’m sure of it.” 

 

“Yeah,” George said wistfully. “But it would have been a _funny_ Apocalypse. Eternal torment with rainbow wigs and rubber dog poo.” 

 

“Probably would have been worth it to see how many Horsemen could fit into one of those tiny cars,” said Charlie. 

 

“The Antichrist would be a sock puppet named Pepè, it would be brilliant…” 

 

“How did this conversation get started again?” Percy asked. “I get lost so quickly with you sometimes.” 

  

"I don't see what the big deal is," said Ginny Potter at the other end of the table.  "I took it years ago.  It was easy." 

  

"Yeah, well," said Ron, "how much help did Harry give you?  Or Dudley?  You're surrounded by Muggles." 

  

 "Excuse me?" said Ginny with an arched eyebrow.  "Aren't you married to a Muggle-born?  Aren't all of your in-laws Muggles?" 

  

"I've been trying to teach him," Hermione Weasley explained.  "He's just a slow learner, that's all." 

  

"Thank you so much for the vote of confidence, love," said Ron flatly, poking at his vegetables.  "You were able to teach yourself the summer before we left for the Horcruxes.  It was easy for you." 

  

"I'm not..." Hermione huffed.  "Look, I have complete confidence in you, Ron.  You just have to give it a chance.  It's a totally non-magical skill to learn.  I can see how that would be hard.  But you just have to be patient." 

  

"I'm having a late start, that's all," said Ron.  "It's not my fault I wasn't able to practice like Bill and the others..." 

  

"Actually, it _is_ your fault," said Bill.  "We practiced with the Anglia.  You _crashed_ the Anglia and turned it feral." 

  

 "I don't see ze bother, Ronald," said Fleur Weasley.  "I have not earned my auto license, either.  I find it worthless when you can use ze Floo Network to get anywhere." 

  

 "Says the woman who begs me to drive her into town every weekend," said Bill with a smirk as Fleur smacked him on the shoulder 

 

"We never had any sort of automobile, either," said Andromeda Tonks.  "Ted and I never felt the need to have one.  It was too much for just three of us." 

  

 "As long as Hermione has her license, you should be fine, though, right?" asked Bill. 

  

"No," Ron sighed.  "I don't like forcing her to drive me around like some teenager.  And now that I'm at home with Rose and Hugo, I want to be able to take them anywhere not connected by the Network." 

  

 "I think it's bloody brilliant," said Arthur Weasley to Harry Potter.  "It's about time they're getting around to it." 

  

 "Yeah, they're almost there," said Harry.  "Now if only the Ministry would get in line with the rest of them.” 

 

“They’re stubborn,” Arthur replied after swallowing a bite of potato. “ _We’re_ stubborn. We like our independence too much. The Council’s torn. Even Kingsley’s on the fence about joining up, and you know how progressive he is.” 

 

“We’re English,” Hermione said, joining in the conversation. “Look at the Muggle government. Forty years, and they’re still under the pound sterling. Even Denmark finally bowed to the Euro two years ago, but Parliament isn’t budging.” 

 

“I just don’t think that we’re going to move until the _Ministerium_ moves,” said Harry. “Every other country on the continent is for this European Union of Wizards except the two big boys. Once Germany gets on board…” 

 

“Hopefully we will, too,” Arthur finished. “There are too many conservative wizards in the Ministerium. Too many who listen to the old prophecies about a united government system being a sign of the End Times. It’s the same types who made it hard for the Russians and the Greeks to get on board. Old wizards who have been around for over a century, who have seen it all…” 

 

“Well, they said that when the International Confederation was formed,” Hermione retorted. “And the Federation of Warlocks. For God’s sake, every time the Triwizard Tournament rolled around there were naysayers who thought that the joining of the three schools was tantamount to breaking the Seventh Seal. They can’t keep using that as an excuse.” 

 

“As long as prophets and fortunetellers still exist,” Arthur resigned, “there will always be people who will continue to use them as an excuse.” 

 

“To them it’s not an excuse,” said Harry. “It’s fact. Lord, just knowing how Voldemort and I reacted to our prophecy, knowing how many others were down there in the Department of Mysteries, how many more are still being made today… Yeah, they’ll always have an impact on our government, whether they should or not.” 

 

“Alright,” Molly Weasley said, setting her fork down, “I’ve heard enough. Arthur, what have I always told you?” 

 

“No eating lentils before bed?” Arthur replied sheepishly. 

 

“No business talk at the table,” Molly replied shortly. “It’s Christmas Eve, for goodness’ sake. Can’t you all forget about it for one night?” 

 

“Sorry, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said. 

 

Molly sighed. “Harry, how old are you?” 

 

“Thirty-three.” 

 

“And how long have you been married to my daughter?” 

 

“Twelve years,” he said with a shy anticipating smirk. 

 

“I think you can stop calling me _Mrs. Weasley_ , dear.” 

 

Harry chuckled. “Sorry, Molly.” 

 

“Apology accepted,” she said with a nod. “Now, who wants trifle?” 

 

\---------

 

Of course, after dinner, the aunts and uncles, along with the grandparents, also gave presents to the children, with varying degrees of spoilage. Harry, for example, loved to see his relatives as happy as possible, and somehow always knew the best present to give them all, even if he had only seen them once or twice in that year. George always gave them samples of his newest stock from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which earned him squeals of glee from the children and gasps of horror from most of the parents. 

 

Ron and Hermione would, of course, have books for the kids. Charlie’s presents were usually a success, as he would always come home with a collection of dragons’ teeth, claws, and the occasional dragon fur or skin coat. 

 

Percy and Penelope, on the other hand, would have gift vouchers for Fortescue’s or Honeydukes. Percy would also have Treasury Gilts. 

 

“You know you’re a boring git, right, Perce?” George said as the children tried to comprehend the idea of getting money that they couldn’t use for twenty years. 

 

“It’s a fine gift!” Percy argued. “I’m investing in their future!” 

 

“Why do you think I got them the candy?” Penelope said to George. 

 

“Hey, they’ll thank me in twenty years when they have to buy their first flat,” Percy insisted. 

 

“You just have to put up with twenty years of disdain in the meantime, big bro,” said George with a smirk. 

 

“Hey, Uncle Charlie?” Hugo asked as he examined his dragon fang (about the length of a finger, it was, of course, magically dulled; dragon fangs and teeth are so sharp that unaltered ones were considered weapons and were illegal to sell to anyone below age. “Next time we visit, can I ride a dragon?” 

 

“Not until you’re older,” Hermione said quickly. “Not until you’re much, _much_ older.” 

 

Harry watched with some amusement as a shudder passed through her, and he and Ron exchanged a glance. They knew that she was thinking of the day they escaped from Gringotts on the back of that blind old beast. If Hermione allowed Hugo to even sit on Norberta’s back before he was fifty Harry would be amazed. 

 

“We’ll see,” said Charlie, giving Hermione a reassuring smile that she tried her best to return. 

 

“Oh, my…” Victoire breathed as she tore the wrapping from a large, flat present. “This is _beautiful_!” 

 

“You like it?” Harry asked. 

 

“I _love_ it!” Victoire said, holding a framed picture with a broad grin on her face. 

 

“What is it?” asked Bill, craning his head over his daughter’s shoulder. 

 

“It’s a leezard,” Fleur replied with some distaste. 

 

“It’s a Moke!” Victoire said. 

 

“A what?” asked George, receiving a sharp glance from Hermione. “I know, I know, it’s in a textbook somewhere, isn’t it?” 

 

“Like a Moke-bag?” asked Percy. 

 

“They’re made from the skins of Mokes, yes,” said Hermione. “For protection.” 

 

“Oh, my, but they’re so beautiful,” Victoire sighed as the painted silver-green newt-like creature skittered around inside the frame. 

 

“Hagrid actually suggested that we buy you an _actual_ Moke,” Ginny explained. “But we figured this was the safer bet.” 

 

“Oh, absolutely,” Victoire said with a nod. “Unless there was an air-tight barrier around a cage it couldn’t hold a Moke if it wanted to escape.” 

 

“Hagrid decided to do a lesson on them for the third years,” Teddy explained to the group. “But as soon as he pulled them out for the students to see, they disappeared. Shrunk down until they were the size of a grain of salt. No one knows what happened to them. Shortest lesson plan in Hogwarts history, I think.” 

 

“Hagrid says that Victoire fell for them hard, though,” Ginny continued. “Made for an easy choice. This or a painting of a Jobberknoll.” 

 

“I absolutely love it,” Victoire repeated, jumping up and hugging Ginny and Harry. “I’ll hang it up in my dorm. Thank you _so much_!” 

 

“Pleasure’s all ours, Vickie,” said Harry as Victoire kissed him on the cheek. 

 

“A few more!” Molly said, pulling out a big pile of wrapped packages. 

 

“Oh, dear,” said Ginny with a smirk. “It’s sweater time, isn’t it?” 

 

“It…. it might not be,” Molly said, flustered but smiling nonetheless. 

 

“Well, as long as we’re handing out presents,” said George. “Ron, I got one for you.” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Just ignore Percy’s name. He didn’t want it.” 

 

“ _No_.” 

 

George stuck a pouty lip out at Verity. “You’re not fun.” 

 

\---------

 

"Happy Christmas, children," said Arthur, hugging Gideon and Fabian after they pulled their jackets and gloves on.  They, along with the rest of the Weasleys and Potters, were gathered in the front hall, donning their winter gear. 

  

"Happy Christmas, Grandfather," Fabian said. 

  

"What time are you leaving tomorrow morning?" Molly asked Percy and Penelope. 

  

"Same time as the others, I gather," Percy said.  "We'll spend the morning at home, then head to the Clearwaters' for dinner." 

  

 "Our Portkey for France leaves tomorrow afternoon," said Fleur.  "We will be back after ze New Year." 

  

 "And I think we'll have plenty of time to play with Fred's new toys before we have to head to the DeVines'," said George, giving his only son a ruffle of the hair before he pulled his stocking cap over his years. 

  

 Teddy turned to Victoire, who, along with Matilda, was standing by the front door.  "So you'll be gone for the rest of holiday?" 

  

"Yeah," she said, giving him a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.  "Happy Christmas, Teddy.  Say hello to H.C. for me, tell her I'm sorry I couldn't see her this year." 

  

"Can do," he replied.  "See you back at Hogwarts." 

  

 "So what time are we expecting you two?" Hermione asked Teddy and Andromeda as Rose and Hugo were preparing for departure. 

  

"We might even beat you there," Andromeda replied.  "There's just two of us; we haven't ever had a lot of Christmas traditions.  And I think Teddy wants to see your sister as early as he can." 

  

"Don't say that, Gran," said Teddy with a grin.  "We're going to church, having breakfast.  I love spending Christmas with you, I'm in no hurry." 

  

Andromeda gave a sad smile.  "Thank you, dear." 

  

 "Well," said Harry, extending his hand as Ron and Hermione made their goodbyes, "Happy Christmas, Teddy." 

  

"Happy Christmas, Harry," said Teddy, shaking his godfather's hand.  "Thanks a lot for the albums." 

  

"Well, I couldn't get you an iPod, so I figured they would have to do for Hogwarts." 

  

"Oh, they're great," said Teddy.  "I've been really wanting some old Beatles and Van Halen to listen to at school." 

  

 "I'm just glad I still have people who are into Muggle music," said Harry.  "I have a better idea of what's good and what isn't on that side of the world.  By the time I got used to wizard bands, I was too old to appreciate them." 

  

 "Happy Christmas, dear," Ginny said, giving Teddy a hug. 

  

"Happy Christmas, Ginny," said Teddy, and he and Andromeda left the Burrow, leaving only the Potters to depart. 

  

"Say 'hello' to Petunia for me," said Molly. 

  

 "We will," said Harry. 

  

"Oh, blimey!" Arthur said.  "I almost forgot."  He ran out of the front hall and into the sitting room. 

  

 "We're looking at the same schedule as Percy and George," said Ginny, helping Lily into the rest of her gear.  "Opening presents in the morning, heading to the Dursleys' for dinner." 

  

 "I wonder of Father Christmas has already been to our house?" Albus asked. 

  

"Do you think he has, Mummy?" Lily asked Ginny. 

  

 "Not yet," said Ginny with a smile to her parents.  "But the sooner we get home and the sooner you get to bed, the quicker he'll be there." 

  

"He's in Moscow right now, actually," said Harry.  "He'll make his way to us soon enough." 

  

 "Ah, here we go," said Arthur, walking into the room with three wrapped presents.  "Muggle gifts for the Dursleys." 

  

"Feeding the addiction, eh, Dad?" said Ginny as she took the presents. 

  

"Well, I found them in a Muggle shop," said Arthur, "and I knew that they would love them." 

  

"What are they?" Harry asked with some trepidation. 

  

 "Something called Legos for Evan..." 

  

"Oh, yeah," said Harry, looking at Ginny with some surprise.  "Actually, he really _will_ like those." 

  

"A spark plug for Petunia," Arthur continued, "and a salad spinner for Dudley and Susan." 

  

"Yeah," Harry said slowly as Ginny snorted laughter behind her hand.  "I'm...  yeah, they'll...  they'll like that." 

  

"It's absolutely amazing technology." 

  

 "Drive safely, dears," said Molly, giving Harry and Ginny long hugs after taking care of their children. 

  

 "We will, Mum," said Ginny.  "Happy Christmas." 

  

_Happy Christmas_ es were spread all around the front hall, and Molly closed and locked the door as the five Potters made their exit.  Molly turned to Arthur and sighed contentedly. 

  

"Well, looks like it's just the two of us for the rest of the night," she said. 

  

"That it is," Arthur said with a nod.  "Shall we start cleaning up?" 

  

As they turned to exit the front hall, they saw a third body leaning against the doorway. 

  

"Oh, Charlie dear!" said Molly with a smile.  "I almost forgot about you." 

  

 Charlie smiled wearily.  "It happens." 

  

"So it looks like it's just the _three_ of us, eh?" said Arthur.  "Do you want to help us clean up, Charlie?  Then maybe we can play some chess or some cards before bed?" 

  

"Yeah," Charlie said with a sigh.  "Actually, I'll help you two clean up.  Then I think I'll go take a walk.  Maybe stop off for a drink." 

  

"Oh," said Molly.  "Well, of course, dear.  But...  are there even any pubs open on Christmas Eve?" 

  

"Probably a few," Charlie said, taking one last look at the door before walking into the wrapping-strewn sitting room with his parents.  "There's always someone who wants to drown their sorrows this time of year." 

 


	35. fifteen Years Later: Afterthought

  
Author's notes:

Not everyone can have a Norman Rockwell Christmas 

 The continuation of the previous chapter, although it seemed separate enough that I could put it as a new title. The fact that it was posted over a week later has something to do with that, as well. Any errors can be attributed to my diseased body. 

* * *

Fifteen Years Later

Afterthought

\---------

 

_Pop_

Charlie Weasley had prepared himself for the fall as soon as he Disapparated from Diagon Alley. One of the many things you were taught in Apparition lessons was to prepare for your environment. You had to be sure that your body wouldn’t Apparate itself into the middle of a tree, a wall, or, in some horrible cases, a person. This was especially true in the winter, when snow could alter your destination by a quarter inch or by three feet.

 

“Snow may appear harmless,” Charlie remembered Wilkie Twycross explaining all those years ago, “but Apparating into it would be the equivalent of injecting your bloodstream with two or three cups of impure water. It’s not exactly healthy, and may require Healer attention to rebalance your body’s systems.”

 

So it was that Charlie dropped two feet into the snow in front of The Three Broomsticks. Re-adjusting his coat around him, he took a few steps towards the building, which was vibrating with the sounds of music and laughter from within, before he noticed a sign hanging on the door:

 

_THE THREE BROOMSTICKS_

_will be closed on_

_Christmas Eve at 5 pm_

_for a private function_

_We will re-open on 26th Dec_

_Happy Holidays!_

 

Charlie snorted. “Just like Leaky,” he said quietly. “Guess not everyone’s the solemn Christmas Eve type, and they want to get as much money out of the evening as they can.”

 

Sure enough, as he glanced into the window, he saw the room filled to the brim with festive wizards and witches downing their share of whiskies, ales, and exotic drinks. Madam Rosmerta, the owner of the Broomsticks, was traipsing about like the world was her oyster, showing off her cleavage, still quite ample in her slowly advancing age, to any wizards who seemed like they’d give her an extra tip for the trouble.

 

“Lord, they’re partying like it’s the New Year,” Charlie said to himself as he walked away. 

 

_And when did you get so old that that started to be a bad thing?_ he thought as he continued on to the next pub. _Roaring to the late hours, getting pissed with your mates, acting like nothing mattered but the bottom of the glass, the witch next to you, and the hangover the next morning that somehow made it all worth it?_

He couldn’t find an answer to that question as he walked down the street, absently rubbing the back of his head ( _hey, feel that, is that a bald spot?_ ) as the echo of the Christmas celebration fell behind him.

 

At last he came upon a quiet secluded spot. One that he knew well and one that he knew would do nothing to raise his spirits.

 

He pushed open the door, and the smell of goats hit him immediately.

 

“Evenin', Weasley.”

 

“Hey, Ab,” said Charlie as he pulled his coat off, hanging it on the rack before approaching the bar.

 

“Didn’t expect to see any of you lot here,” Aberforth Dumbledore muttered, absently cleaning a glass. “Ain’t you supposed to be with your family tonight?”  
  
”I’d rather drink than talk about it,” Charlie said, plopping himself down on a stool. “I’ll take a couple fingers.”

 

“Anything in particular?”

 

“Whatever you want to get rid of,” Charlie said, slapping two Galleons on the bar. “I’ll narrow it down as I go.”

 

“Suit yerself,” Aberforth said, turning to the back wall of the bar and pulling down a nearly empty bottle of orange liquid. Flipping over a shot glass, he poured a small amount before sliding it over to Charlie.

 

“Sure you don’t wanna talk about nothing, Weasley?” Aberforth asked.

 

“Not in particular, no,” Charlie replied, downing the drink in one slug and motioning the brother of Albus Dumbledore to give him another.

 

“Well, that’s good,” said Aberforth, refilling the glass. “I don’t think much of anyone in here is particularly in a talkin’ mood tonight, myself included.”

 

Charlie looked around. The Hog’s Head was mostly empty, except for two or three bodies slung into the far corners. Charlie realized that he recognized more than one of them from other occasions in the bar, and wondered if they ever left. Where they’d go. If they had anyone to go to.

 

“Christmas does that to some people,” said Charlie. Aberforth nodded in assent, poured Charlie a pint, and then returned to the far end to wipe dirty glasses with an even dirtier towel.

 

Charlie realized after a few sips that he should probably slow down a bit. It had been a while since he had taken two shots in such quick succession, and his metabolism wasn’t quite what it used to be. He sat quietly, nursing the pint, staring at his face in the foggy mirror which hung behind the bar. Tried his best to keep his mind from asking the hard questions, from delving too deep into what his life was becoming.

 

_Maybe I shouldn’t slow down after all_ , he thought.  _Might make the rest of the night go smoother._

 

He heard the front door creak open, breezing by a small hanger that used to hold a bell that had fallen off years ago, now matching the general disrepair of the pub. Heard the door close, a pair of footsteps approaching the bar. The slight squeak of the stool as someone sat down. The blurry silhouette in the mirror beside his own reflection.

 

“Hello, Charles.”

 

Charlie pulled his eyes away from the mirror and turned to his partner. Medium height, pale blond hair, misty eyes now hidden behind glasses that more and more of them seemed to need as they grew older.

 

“Hey, Lovegood,” he said. “Aren’t you supposed to be touring the world?”

 

“We arrived home this morning,” said Luna. “Another near miss on our quest.”

 

“Doesn’t it always happen that way?” Charlie said with a snort, taking another sip. “So you just got home this morning?”

 

“Yes, it was a rather nice trip home,” she replied, just as light and far off as she had been at Bill’s wedding fifteen years ago.

 

“And this is one of your first stops?” he continued. “On Christmas Eve?”

 

“Of course,” said Luna. “I always try to visit Aberforth when I am in town. Especially now. He’s lonely. He misses Ariana and Professor Dumbledore. They loved Christmas.”

 

“He told you all this, did he?” asked Charlie. “Ab’s never been the sort to open up to many.”

 

“He didn’t have to tell me,” said Luna. “I just know.”

 

“Of course you do…”

 

“Besides,” she continued conversationally, “I find it difficult to find others who wish to spend Christmas with me.”

 

“Well, that’s not true,” said Charlie, suddenly finding that, despite the fact that he was looking for a quiet night with a drink, he found himself trying to comfort one his baby sister’s friend, someone he had only met a few times at weddings. “There’s Xeno, isn’t there? And all of your friends? Ginny and them?”

 

“Oh, of course,” Luna said. “I will of course see Ginny and Harry and Neville and the others soon. But I cannot see them tonight and tomorrow for the same reason that you’re sitting here with me.”

 

“They all have their own families now,” Charlie answered without being asked. “They all have their own lives. We just get left behind.”

 

“I do not wish to interrupt their Christmas,” Luna continued. “It’s a special time for the children, and I do not want to take that away from them. And Neville and Uriela are staying at Hogwarts until the New Year, so I cannot see them, either.”

 

“Yeah,” Charlie muttered. “Can I get you something to drink?”

 

“A cranberry juice would be quite nice,” said Luna. “I am on my period, and it is a natural diuretic.”

 

Charlie cleared his throat nervously. “Um, right,” he said, remembering the honest conversation the woman showed during the night James was born. He turned to Aberforth. “Hey, Ab. Cranberry juice?”

 

“Whatever you say,” said Aberforth sullenly, nodding in Luna’s direction. “Lovegood.”

 

“Hello, Aberforth,” said Luna. Dumbledore slid Luna a small glass of the red juice and returned to his lost cleaning cause. She took a small sip. “This is quite good,” she said. “Thank you, Charles.”

 

“No problem.”

 

“As for my father,” she said, and Charlie had to push his slowly hazing mind back to realize she was continuing the old conversation, “he does not celebrate Christmas anymore.”

 

“Really?” said Charlie. “He seems… well, I don’t know what kind of type he seems like, I guess.”

 

“He used to love Christmas,” Luna continued. “When I was a child he and my mother would decorate the house.”

 

“That would be something to see,” Charles said, smiling despite himself. He barely knew Xenophilius Lovegood in person, but from what he had seen from a distance, read in The Quibbler, and from what Ron and the others had said about the Lovegood estate, he didn’t think his imagination could even comprehend what Xeno would consider Christmas decorations.

 

“They were quite lovely,” Luna said in her misty voice. “But after Mother died, Father found it quite difficult to continue the celebrations.”

 

“I could see how that would happen,” Charlie said.

 

“He says that he does not understand why we should celebrate the birth of Jesus. He says that Muggles may see him as a man of miracles, but Father believes that he was nothing more than an average wizard, like the rest of us. That any one of us could claim to be the Son of God and get away with it with one simple _Wingardium Leviosa_.

 

“I can see where he stands, of course,” she continued after Charlie was struck into silence. “However, I do disagree with him. Jesus performed many spells that defy even the most powerful wizards and witches of our day.”

 

“Do you consider them spells?” Charlie asked.

 

“I do not know,” said Luna. “That is why I think He is so fascinating.  They say He walked on water when even Dumbledore had to swim to reach the cave. He raised people from the dead, but when He did, they were pure and whole. Not a ghost, not a shadow like the Resurrection Stone, and not an Inferi.

 

“Besides that,” she continued, “He seems like He was such a good wizard. A pure wizard. If He was a wizard, He used his magic to feed thousands. To try to bring the people of the world together, even if they often misinterpret what He said. I believe that’s why we celebrate His birthday. We don’t know what He was, but we do know that He was great.”

 

Charlie chuckled and shook his head. “I never really think about it, I guess,” he said. “Any one of us could walk into a Muggle church, synagogue, or mosque, and we’d be attacked or killed for what we can do. Or, you know, they could _try_ to kill us. We’d be called heretics, or demons, or whatever. Yet we continue to celebrate their religious holidays like they’re ours.”

 

“Because they _are_ ours,” Luna replied. “We’re all the same people. We marry and have funerals in the same churches, we read the same religious texts, and we can all sit down during this time of year, or during other holidays, and celebrate what we have and remember those we’ve lost. You don’t need magic to do that.”

 

Charlie nodded and glanced down to the end of the bar. Watched Aberforth Dumbledore as he cleaned his dirty glasses on Christmas Eve night. His brother gone, his sister’s portrait her only remnant. He thought of earlier in the night, at Mum and Dad’s, the touch of sadness that would occasionally break through their faces, even years later, as they watched their grandson run around the house with the others. Little Fred, a mirror image of his namesake.

 

He thought of Andromeda, and how, when she thought that no one was looking, her smile would break for just a moment, showing the true sadness she was still feeling. How even now she would just absently touch her grandson’s shoulder, especially when his hair turned purple or pink, his mother’s favorite color. 

 

Just another reminder of who was gone.

 

“It’s tough,” he said, taking another sip. “It’s tough to celebrate when you can’t share everyone’s happiness.”

 

“I do share it,” said Luna. “It just becomes a different kind of happiness. You have to be happy that you are still alive. That you have made it through another year, and that you continue to live with the memory of those who are no longer with us.”

 

“Yeah, right,” Charlie muttered.

 

“It can be hard,” Luna said, taking a sip of her juice. “It can be hard to believe that things will get better. But they do.”

 

“I hope so,” said Charlie. “So no boyfriend to spend Christmas with, either? I suppose with you being on the road so often…”

 

“No boyfriend,” said Luna. “My girlfriend and I broke up recently, so I do not have anyone significant in my life right now.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Charlie said. “I forgot you go that way.”

 

“That is alright.”

 

“Just remind me later,” Charlie said with a chuckle. “If I get too pissed and start trying to flirt with you.”

 

“I will not mind,” said Luna. “I do enjoy men, as well. And you are quite attractive.”

 

“Thanks,” said Charlie, shaking his head. “I don’t get that very often in my old age. But you’re my sister’s age. Hopefully remembering that will slow me down.”

 

“I do not think you are old,” said Luna. “And you do not have a girlfriend, either. Or a boyfriend.”

 

It wasn’t a question. “Why else do you think I’m here?” Charlie said, lifting his glass. “I’d like a propose a toast to those who have been left behind.”

 

Luna lifted her glass, but as it connected to Charlie’s she gave him a confused look. “I do not understand,” she said.

 

“That’s us, love,” Charlie said, downing the rest of his drink and motioning for another. “The ones who get left behind while the others find their lives. We’re the forgotten ones. The afterthoughts.”

 

“I did not know that we were forgotten,” said Luna. “Has someone forgotten you?”

 

“Oh, yeah.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Everyone.”

 

“I do not think that is necessarily correct.”

 

“Isn’t it?” Charlie said as Aberforth poured him another drink. “As all of my brothers and my sister go off and find their true happiness, give Mum and Dad loads of squirming grandchildren, I’ve become the doddering old lady with a houseful of cats.”

 

“But you do not have cats,” said Luna. “You have dragons. They’re much nicer to have around than cats.”

 

“I’ve been living in Romania for over twenty years,” Charlie continued. “In all of that time I’ve seen my parents… I don’t know, maybe ten times? Outside of weddings, I could count the number of times I’ve seen my sibs on one hand. They can’t always afford to visit me; I can’t always afford to visit them. I get it. But in that time I’ve become…”

 

“An afterthought,” Luna said.

 

“It feels like it,” said Charlie. “And that was even before the grandkids started showing up. Now every Weasley get-together is ‘Ooh, Bill’s girls are getting so big!’ and ‘My, aren’t Percy and Penelope such a nice couple?’ and ‘Oh, doesn’t Lily look just like her mother!’ I’m the only one who isn’t married. I’m the only one without children. I’m not even in their field of vision anymore. Harry and Hermione have always been closer to them than I’ve been. Lovegood, I swear, even Teddy’s become more of a Weasley than I am.”

 

Luna remained silent, and Charlie took that as a signal to continue his tirade.

 

“You know where I was when the Battle of Hogwarts started?” he asked. “At home. Stitching my knickers after one of the Ironbellies clawed a whole through them that morning. I didn’t even know there was anything going on until Andromeda Flooed me, completely out of her gourd because Dora ran off a half hour ago, leaving Teddy behind. She couldn’t think of anyone else to call, and she knew that Mum and Dad hadn’t contacted me. Which, of course, they hadn’t.”

 

“That night was difficult for many people,” said Luna. “The only way that people heard about it was through others…”

 

“I wasn’t there for them,” Charlie snapped, slamming his fist on the bar. “I wasn’t there for… I wasn’t there for Fred, or… I wasn’t there for them, after…”

 

“But you were,” said Luna, putting her hand on his shoulder. “That is what matters in the end. You were there for them, although you were only there in spirit after Fred died. And your mother and father did not contact anyone. Fred, George, and Ginny were contacted by Neville. Bill and Fleur came because Dean Thomas and myself told them. You were not left out on purpose, Charles.”

 

“You know I punched Percy?” Charlie said, lowering his chin to his arms, which were crossed on the bar.

 

“No, I did not know that…”

 

“When I first showed up,” he said, “I saw him dueling… well, I don’t know _who_ he was dueling. All I knew was that he was still one of Them. So I punched him. Was ready to hex him, too, but Fleur knocked me back before I could get the words out. I don’t even think she remembered who I was. I was the best man at her wedding, but in the end… _ppht_.” He waved his hand absently past his forehead.

 

“Many of us had difficulty that night,” said Luna. “I believe I cast a Bat-Bogey Hex on Susan Bones by mistake. It is not something she wished to talk about later, even after I apologized.”

 

“Well, once again, I was left out of the loop…”

 

“You should feel fulfilled,” said Luna. “Ginny and your brothers often spoke of how much they wanted to punch Percival. You should be happy to be the only one to actually do it.”

 

Charlie let out a quiet laugh despite himself. 

 

“They have not forgotten us,” said Luna calmly. “They remember us, they love us. It may not seem like it sometimes, but that is simply because we are not in their lives as often as we would like to be.”

 

“Yeah,” Charlie grunted, taking another swig.

 

“But it is by our choice that we have not been in their lives,” Luna continued. “You chose to move to Romania to be with your dragons. I chose to end my relationship with Neville because I wished to explore the world. We knew that it would be difficult, yet we made our decision anyway. Or would you rather not be in Romania?”

 

“I don’t know,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “Sometimes I… I just don’t know.”

 

“Would you like to be a banker?” Luna continued. “Or maybe work at the joke shop?”

 

“No,” Charlie said with a snort. “Oh, hell no.”

 

“Then you already know the answer,” said Luna.

 

Charlie looked at her with an arched eyebrow. “I don’t follow…”

 

“You know what you don’t want,” Luna said. “Which means that you know what you _do_ want.”

 

“Interesting logic…”

 

“I am glad to hear you say so,” said Luna as she finished her juice. “Many people have told me that I am quite illogical.”

 

\---------

 

_Tap tap tap._

“Who could that be?” Arthur Weasley asked, sitting up from his chair in front of the fireplace.

 

“It couldn’t be Charlie,” said Molly, standing up. “He wouldn’t knock.”

 

The two Weasley grandparents walked to the front hall together and Arthur opened the door.

 

Indeed, it was their second-eldest, with his arm slung around another’s shoulder.

 

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.”

 

“Hello, Luna,” Arthur said, exchanging a confused look with his wife.

 

“She gave me a Side-Along,” Charlie said.

 

“He was mildly intoxicated when we left the pub,” said Luna. “I did not think he was coherent enough to Disapparate.”

 

“Of course, of course,” Arthur said, stepping aside as Charlie entered, a slight hitch to his gait but otherwise fine.

 

“Would you like to come in, dear?” Molly asked Luna after a quick glance of mild disapproval at her son.

 

“No, that is fine,” Luna said. “I should return home. Thank you for the offer, however.”

 

“Noon tomorrow sound good?” Charlie asked her, which earned him another confused look from his parents.

 

“Noon tomorrow sounds lovely,” said Luna. “Good night.”

 

“Good night,” the three Weasleys said, and Luna turned on her heel and walked back down the path as Arthur closed the door behind her and turned to his son.

 

“Tomorrow at noon?” Arthur asked. “You’re going on a _date_ with Luna Lovegood?”

 

“Naw, naw,” Charlie said, and Arthur could smell the hint of alcohol on his breath.

 

“But tomorrow’s Christmas, dear,” said Molly, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “We have plans for the three of us. I was going to make us a lovely dinner, and we so rarely get to see you anymore. I don’t know why you would make a date, especially with someone so much younger than you.”

 

“It’s not a date,” said Charlie, plopping down in a chair in the drawing room. “Not a date. We’re not going out. She’s coming over here. Her and Xeno both. We tried inviting Ab, too, but he wouldn’t have it.”

 

“Oh,” said Molly, glancing at Arthur. “Well, that… that sounds lovely, dear.”

 

“I promise I’ll help out,” said Charlie. “You know I can cook, and I’ll help clean and all of that.”

 

“No, it’s not that,” said Molly. “The more the merrier, I suppose. I’m just…”

 

“Well, it’s just a bit _unexpected_ , is all,” said Arthur, and Molly nodded in agreement.

 

“I know,” Charlie said. “But it’s been years since they’ve had a decent Christmas. Or, well, _any_ Christmas. I don’t even know if Xeno remembers what it’s like anymore.”

 

He looked at his mother, who gave a reluctant smile of acceptance. Charlie just shrugged.

 

“And I just don’t like to see anyone left behind.”

 


	36. Seventeen Years Later: A Fair Read

  
Author's notes: As this chapter was written far before _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ was released to the general public, it us purely my interpretation based on the  [amazon.com](http://www.amazon.com/beedlebard) review.  At the time, I had to make due with what was available.  


* * *

Seventeen Years Later

A Fair Read

\---------

 

“So this is it, then?”

“Yeah, it is,” said Teddy Lupin as he sat on his bed. 

“This is it,” Hermione Caroline Granger repeated, holding the ancient text carefully as she stood by Teddy’s dresser. “The Book.”

“Yeah…” 

“I mean, _the_ book, the big one, the oh-by-the-way-it-helped-save-the-world type book.”

“One and the same,” Teddy said with a smirk. 

“Wow,” said Hermione, staring down at the worn cover. “I mean… Ted, this is _huge_. It’s so old and important and are you sure my sister wanted you to have it?”

“If she didn’t, I’m sure she wouldn’t have gotten it confused with _Hogwarts: A History_ ,” said Teddy. 

“Bloody hell,” said Hermione, sitting down beside her boyfriend. “She talked about it all the time, but she never showed it to any of us. Kept it in storage in Gringotts ever since the war finished.”

“And that’s probably where it’s going tomorrow,” said Teddy. “But she said I should have a look at it before I put it in my own vault.” 

“I forgot you have your own _vault_ now,” said Hermione with a shocked smirk. “This whole _of age_ thing’s… odd…”

“Yeah, I know,” said Teddy with a shrug. “It’s really not much, though. The presents are a little bigger than normal, just like yours will be next year. Otherwise, it just means that I can use magic without getting in trouble.” 

“Yeah,” Hermione said quietly. “Not a big deal.”

Teddy flinched slightly at the tone of her voice and the look on her face; that combination of pride for her boyfriend, mixed with that touch of jealousy that had been in her as long as he had known her. He mentally chided himself; in one little phrase, he had twice reminded her that he was a wizard and she was a Muggle. She always talked about how much she wished that she could be considered an adult at seventeen instead of eighteen, and to be able to use magic freely at that time. 

Or, well, use magic at _all_ beyond the tiny bit provided by the pendant around her neck.

“It’s not a big deal, really,” he said firmly, putting his hand on her leg. “I honestly wish that they wouldn’t make as big of a thing of it as they do. I’m still the same Ted I was before I turned seventeen.” 

Teddy knew that he was lying slightly. He was the same kid now as when he was sixteen. Of course, when he had turned seventeen back in April, it felt like a bigger deal. Knowing that he could use magic outside of Hogwarts was a wonderful feeling, like a Muggle getting their driver’s license for the first time (which Hermione herself had done soon after she turned seventeen in May).

But now, when the Potters, Grangers, and Hermione’s sister’s family got together earlier in the day to celebrate a belated birthday party for both of them, now fresh out of school for the summer hols, it was different. The presents were indeed bigger: he had received a pocket watch from Gran, along with the book from Jean and Ron and a Mark II Thunderbolt from Harry and Ginny for his seventh year as one of the Gryffindor Chasers. But now, the loss of the Trace seemed like old hat. 

Hermione nodded, but didn’t say anything else on the subject, which made Teddy feel like he did the best that he could, considering the circumstances that had been staring the couple in the face since they started dating three and a half years ago. 

“So can we open it?” Hermione asked instead, looking back down at the book.

“I think so,” said Teddy, taking the book from her lap and putting it on his own. “It may look old, but it has enough enchantments to hold it together for a long time. I mean, it was old when Professor Dumbledore gave it to Jean. It held up with her, and you know how she reads.” 

Hermione chuckled. “Good point,” she said. “So where is it? The big important symbol?”

“Hmm,” Teddy said, opening the book to the front. “Jean said that it was in _The Three Brothers_ , so…” he scanned his finger down a page of indecipherable text. “Page fifty-nine.” 

“You can read that?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, a bit,” Teddy said, slightly embarrassed. 

“Wow,” Hermione breathed, now leaning over his shoulder.

“I’m… I’m okay at it,” said Teddy with a reluctant shrug as he flipped through the aged pages. “That’s why your sister gave it to me in the first place. What can I say? Uri’s a good professor. Oh, here we go…” 

He stopped flipping pages and pointed to the top of one particular section, where a triangular eye stared back at them.

“That’s the Deathly Hallows?” Hermione asked. “The symbol that started the whole thing?” 

“The one that beat Voldemort, yeah,” Teddy replied. “Aberforth’s brother gave the book to Jean so that she could learn the story. Luna’s dad pointed them in the direction, and it was the three Hallows that helped Harry beat Voldemort in the end.”

“The Resurrection Stone, the Elder Wand, and Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, right?” 

“Why am I even explaining this to you?” Teddy asked with a smirk.

“Well, it’s not like Jean hasn’t told me anything,” said Hermione. “She just never showed me the book. It’s like I’m looking at the Magna Carta or something. This is _huge_.” 

“It’s just a book of fairy tales, really,” Teddy said. “Nothing earth-shattering. The symbol itself was scribbled in by Professor Dumbledore or Grindelwald; it wasn’t a part of the book originally.”

“Alright, fine, I’m sorry,” said Hermione sarcastically. “It’s not like looking at the Magna Carta. It’s just like you own something handwritten by Churchill or Hitler, _completely_ different.” 

“Yes, completely different,” said Teddy with a smile.

“So it’s a book of fairy tales?” Hermione asked, nudging herself closer. 

“Yeah, it is,” he replied, flipping back to the front. “Five stories.”

“Wizard stories, though,” she continued. 

“Wizard stories,” Teddy agreed. “Gran read them to me when I was growing up, but not in this language.”

“But you can read it?” 

“Mostly, yeah.”

“Okay,” said Hermione, flopping back onto Teddy’s bed. “Read me something.” 

“What?”

“Read me a bedtime story,” she replied with mock innocence, curling up beside him. 

“I don’t know,” Teddy said patronizingly. “If I read you a bedtime story, you’ll probably fall asleep.”

“Would that be a bad thing?” Hermione asked with a naughty smile. 

“It might be,” said Teddy. “I might be seventeen, but as long as I’m living under Andromeda Tonks’s roof, she has a problem with you sleeping over.”

“I don’t see why not,” said Hermione. “I used to sleep over all the time.” 

“Yeah, when you were eight,” Teddy replied. “You know, back before I was allowed to touch your naughty bits. I don’t tell her much, but I think Gran’s figured out that we do have the occasional bit of orgasm fun. We are teenagers in love, after all. Comes with the territory.”

“Fine,” said Hermione, her lip pouted out. “If you don’t want to snuggle, then we don’t have to snuggle. I can just go home and sleep _alone_.” 

Teddy sighed indulgently, his hair turning orange as he fell down beside her. “Devil woman,” he muttered under his breath.

“I aim to please,” she replied, laying her arm across his chest and setting her head on his shoulder, making sure to keep the stray bits of long blonde hair out of his face. “So what are you going to read me?” 

“I don’t know,” he said, opening the book on his chest. “What do you want me to read?”

“Yeah, like I can read any of that,” said Hermione. “You have to walk me through it, love.” 

“Okay, then,” said Teddy, opening to the first page. “Five stories to choose from. I’m assuming you don’t want me to read _Three Brothers_ …”

“Nah, Jean’s already explained that one to death to me,” said Hermione. Very punny! 

“Okay, there’s _The Wizard and the Hopping Pot_ ,” Teddy read. “Gran told me that one once, I was never really a fan. Too weird.”

“I don’t want you to read me anything you don’t like,” said Hermione, snuggling closer. 

“There’s _The Warlock’s Hairy Heart_ ,” Teddy continued. “Pretty much the H.P. Lovecraft of fairy tales.”

”How romantic,” Hermione replied with a crinkled nose. 

“ _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ ,” said Teddy. “Not bad. When we watched _Wizard of Oz_ it really reminded me of _Fair Fortune_.”

“Keep that one in mind…” 

“And _Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump_.”

Hermione broke into a fit of giggles. “Babbitty Rabbitty? You sure you didn’t make that name up?” 

“Babbitty Rabbitty’s great!” Teddy insisted, causing Hermione to break into another fit of giggles.

“Cute name,” she said, stifling her mouth in his chest. 

“Says the girl who loved Yertle the Turtle and Foghorn Leghorn.”

“Don’t you ever make fun of Foghorn!” 

“And who has the whole collection of Lemony Snicket?”

“Who doesn’t?” said Hermione with a shrug. “Heaven forbid I own the most popular book series of all time. But, fine, fine, touché. Babbitty Rabbitty: Not funny.” 

“Thank you.”

“Babbitty,” Hermione mumbled, and broke into another fit of snorting laughter. 

“Bloody hell,” Teddy said with a laugh. “Did James slip you a mickey, or something?”

“No no, sorry sorry,” Hermione said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “No more laughing, I promise.” 

“I’ll read _Fountain of Fair Fortune_ ,” said Teddy, flipping to the page. “It’s a good one.”

“Awww, no _Babbitty Rabbitty_?” asked Hermione, once again snorting into fits of giggles. 

“If I read _Babbitty Rabbitty_ , you’d start breaking out into giggles every time I said her name, and it would take me five times as long to read it, and we wouldn’t have any time to snog before Gran comes home.”

“You’re right,” said Hermione, trying desperately to push the grin from her face. “Snogging is of vital importance to our national security. Carry on, soldier.”  

“Thank you,” Teddy replied, craning his neck to give Hermione a small kiss. Which, of course, turned into a big kiss. Which, of course, nearly knocked _Beedle the Bard_ to the ground as Hermione pushed herself on top of him, their tongues twisting within each other’s mouths as Teddy’s hair turned blazing red and his hand found the bare skin of the small of Hermione’s back as her jumper rucked itself up her abdomen thanks to her gyrations.

“Are we… calling… the reading off, then?” Teddy asked between kisses. 

“I… I don’t…” Hermione muttered, nibbling his neck. “I don’t know… Don’t kiss you… Smell _really_ good…”

“I think that means we can save it for later,” Teddy breathed.  

Hermione Caroline moaned what he assumed was consent, and didn’t seem to complain one bit as he pulled her jumper over her head and kissed the skin between her breasts, right below her crystal pendant, as she reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. Teddy quickly moved over, kissing large nipples on medium breasts as Hermione unbuttoned his shirt and rubbed his bare chest, muscled from years of tossing the Quaffle, and sucked in her slight belly as he unzipped her jeans and slipped his hand into her knickers and…

“Ohhhhh,” Hermione cried, muffling herself in the crook of his neck as she tensed up against him. 

“That was quick,” he whispered as they now faced each other on their sides.

“Needed,” Hermione nodded, panting. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Teddy said with a smirk. “Just so long as I get some fun eventually.”

“Eventually,” Hermione replied, smiling wickedly as she pushed him to his back and moving down his body, reaching for his fly and throwing the covers over her. 

\---------

Twenty minutes later, their breathing nearing normal again, their clothing nearly back to normal (Hermione’s bra was hidden beneath Teddy’s pillow, but they assumed they was close enough if Andromeda decided to make an unexpected appearance), and Teddy’s hair slowly fading back to a less violent hue, the two found themselves back in their original positions. 

“Better?” asked Hermione, licking her lips to make sure the traces were gone.

“Better,” said Teddy, running his hands through her hair. “You?” 

“Oh, God yes,” she chuckled. “Want to read me a story?”

“And we’re sure that’s not going to lead to another round?” 

“Would you be complaining?” Hermione asked naughtily.

“Probably not,” said Teddy. 

“I think I can control my hormones long enough to wait for the story to be over,” said Hermione, slapping the book onto his chest. “Besides, you need recovery time.”

“Recovery time?” Teddy said. “Planning on giving me another blowjob, are you?” 

“Depends on how good the story is,” Hermione said with a wink. “Besides, I need more practice. My other boyfriend says I should use my tongue more often.”

“That’s so hilarious,” Teddy said dryly. “Really, kudos.” 

“I’m booked in Vegas for the next few weeks,” said Hermione. “You should come see my act, I’ve been working on it.”

“If you could get me some comps, I would really appreciate it.” 

“Just read me the story, love.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Teddy said slowly. “I seem to be receiving a lot flack from my audience.” 

Hermione snuggled up closer. “I want you to read to me,” she said quietly.

Teddy looked down at her, and saw her looking back at him with such love and softness that he couldn’t help but kiss her forehead. 

“Alright,” he said, opening the book. “ _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_.”

\--------- 

“ _A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…_ ”

“It doesn’t say that!” 

“Well, it might...”

“Are you going to make it all up?” 

“Sorry,” Teddy said with a smile, and Hermione pulled herself closer to him, putting her head down so that she could try to read the ancient runic text along with him, the book once owned by Albus Dumbledore and Hermione Jean Weasley resting comfortably on his chest.

“ _Once upon a time_ ,” he translated, “ _there was a great kingdom. This kingdom was not perfect. Many people were happy, and many people suffered, just as in most kingdoms. But this kingdom was special, for within its borders was a wonderful secret._

_“Within this kingdom lay a great walled garden, protected by strong magic. And within this garden lay a beautiful fountain, the Fountain of Fair Fortune. This Fountain was enchanted. Once a year, it would grant a single unfortunate the opportunity to bathe in its waters and find fair fortune forever more._

_“Witches and wizards would flock from all over the kingdom with the single hope of entering the walled garden. And such it was that three witches found themselves before the wall one morning just before the sun rose._

_“The first witch, who came from the north of the kingdom, was named Asha. She was cursed with a malady no Healer could cure._

_“The second witch, who came from the south of the kingdom, was named Atheda. She was cursed with poverty after she was robbed and humiliated by a trusted friend._

_“The third witch, who came from the center of the kingdom, was named Amata. She was cursed with grief and longing after she was left by her one true love.”_

“I love the names,” Hermione interjected. 

_“Each stood before the wall of the enchanted garden,”_ Teddy continued _, “and told the other witches their own tale of woe. The three witches, hearing each tale, felt that they each had an equal claim to the Fountain’s magic. They decided to work together to find their way into the garden and into the Fountain._

_“’After all,’ said Asha, ‘While I think I am the rightful one to wash in the Fountain, I would like to see you two go on if I cannot.’”_

When Teddy spoke the words of Asha the witch, Hermione heard a subtle change come over his voice. It didn’t sound like an impersonation, or the kind of screeching falsetto that often showed up when a man tried to sound like a woman.

Teddy sounded like a different person completely. 

_“As Asha spoke,”_ Teddy continued, and Hermione wondered if he even knew that he could speak like that, _“the sun rose behind the three witches, and a huge crack appeared in the wall of the garden. Huge Crawlers crawled from the crack in the wall and wrapped around Asha.”_

“What are Crawlers?” Hermione asked. “Are they like some magical plant that I’ve never heard of? Are they real?” 

“Yeah, they’re real,” said Teddy. “Professor Longbottom had them in a lesson fourth year. Wicked shite, not anything you’d want in a real garden, I’ll tell you that.”

“Nasty?” 

“Carla had to be taken up to Madam Pomfrey after one of them got her around the neck,” Teddy said. “Neville wasn’t happy about it, obviously, but she was kinda screwing around when it happened. He had warned everyone before the lesson began, so it wasn’t his fault. You really have to pay attention in those lessons sometimes.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Hermione with a shudder. She wished she was a witch all the time, but every now and then she was reminded that it wasn’t all hugs and puppies. 

“Want me to keep going?”

“Yeah, go ahead…” 

_“In her fear,”_ Teddy read, flipping the page, _“she grabbed Altheda’s robes, who grabbed Amata’s. Amata reached out to grab a hold of something, and came upon a rusty suit of armor that had appeared while the three witches had been struggling with the Crawlers._

_“However, even the four bodies combined were not enough, and the Crawlers dragged the three witches and the suit of armor through the hole and into the garden, where they were immediately released._

_“As the three witches regained their senses, they discovered that the suit of armor was more than a suit of armor._

_“’It’s a knight!’ said Asha angrily._

_“’Not a very good knight,’ said Altheda. ‘And now he’s in the garden with us!’_

_“’Indeed I am,’ said the knight. ‘And I now see that all three of you are witches. I am a Squib, and have no hope to find my bravery in the Fountain of Fair Fortune without magic.”_

“Do you even know you’re doing that?” Hermione asked, pushing herself up onto her elbows.

“Doing what?” 

“Your voice,” she said. “It’s so… it goes beyond an impersonation. You’re like Frank Caliendo times a thousand, it’s spooky.”

“Oh, that,” Teddy said, rubbing his throat lightly. “Yeah, it’s one of the lessons Cairill’s had for me. I can adjust my vocal chords to sound like anyone or anything.” 

“Holy shit…”

“Is it too much?” he asked nervously. “I mean, if it’s too much, I can stop.” 

“Maybe back it off a bit,” she admitted. “But keep going.”

“Okay,” he said, picking the book back up as Hermione lay back down beside him. “blah blah blah _no hope to find my bravery without magic. So I will leave you three to your quest and return home, defeated once again.’_

_“What is your name, sir?” asked Amata as the knight searched the wall for an exit._

_“My name is Sir Luckless.”_ At this, Teddy himself stopped and raised an eyebrow. “So _that’s_ what it translates to? Weird.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Hermione.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Teddy. “Just that I always knew this character as Sir Rilgon.” 

“Rilgon?”

“It’s his name phonetically spoken in Runic,” said Teddy. “It’s kind of a joke in the wizarding world, when someone’s unlucky they’d be called a Sir Rilgon. You know, like how a traitor in the Muggle world would be called a Benedict Arnold, or someone charismatic would be a Prince Charming. I just never made the connection that _Rilgon_ literally translates into _luckless_.” 

“I suppose it makes sense,” Hermione said. “Just remind me to give my sister grief next time I see her. She’s not supposed to be educating us during the summer.”

_’My name is Sir Luckless,’”_ Teddy continued, _“’and my name fits me well, as I am trapped here without a horse or a sword.’”_

“Well, there you go,” said Hermione. “Definitely does fit him well.”

_“’Do not go, Sir Luckless!’ said Amata, much to the frustration of the other witches. ‘Knights do not abandon their quests so easily! Join us in our adventure!’_

_“’I will do as you ask, milady,’ said Sir Luckless, ‘As I cannot seem to be able to find any other way to escape.’_

“Smooth bastard, isn’t he?” Hermione chuckled. 

“Well, he is Sir Rilgon,” Teddy said patiently.  _“And so the four began their journey through the garden on their way to the Fountain of Fair Fortune._

_“Soon they felt the earth tremble beneath their feet, and a monstrous white worm, bloated and blind, erupted from the ground.”_

“Ick.”

_“’You face the first challenge,’ said the worm, its sightless eyes blinking down at the four travelers. ’In order to pass, you must show me…’”_

“What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?”

“God, you’re such a nerd,” Teddy said, snorting laughter. 

“Oh, dear,” said Hermione with mock fluster. “He’s dating a nerd! Whatever will the Townswomen’s Guild think?”

_“’In order to pass,’”_ Teddy continued, _“’You must show me proof of your pain.’_

_"’This worm is easy to pass,’ said Asha, who tried to walk around the worm.  She could not, as the worm's tail crashed down before her, trembling the earth as it blocked her path._

_"’If it were smaller we could climb over its tail,’ said Asha, who cast a shrinking spell on the worm.  The spell bounced off of the worm, shrinking a nearby tree._

_"’No, you should stun it,’ said Altheda, who did as she suggested.  This spell also did not work, and instead knocked a squirrel from its branch._

_“As the three witches cast spell after spell at the worm, Sir Luckless picked up rocks from the path and threw them.  He then took the shrunken tree by its trunk and tried to beat the worm into submission._

_“The worm simply laughed as the spells bounced from its thick hide, and laughed as the knight, with his squeaking armor, fought to no avail._

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Hermione. “Good mental image, that. Old squeaky armor, screaming battle cries as he does absolutely nothing.” 

“Are you going to keep interrupting me?” asked Teddy. “You know we’re not going to be able to get a second round in.”

“Sorry, sorry…”

_"’Oh, dear,’ Asha cried, ’How will we ever defeat this great worm?’_

_“And as she cried, tears rolled from her cheeks and splashed on the dirt before the huge worm._

_"’You have shown me proof of your pain,’ said the worm as the tears soaked into the ground.  ‘You may now pass.’_

“And the moral of the story is sob like a baby and you get what you want,” Hermione said with a sarcastic smirk. 

“There _is_ more, you know…”said Teddy. “ _The worm slipped into its hole, which sealed behind it, leaving the path as untouched as it was before the worm's arrival._

_"’I am better,’ said Asha as Altheda, Amata, and Sir Luckless comforted her.  ‘We must continue on our journey to the Fountain of Fair Fortune.’_

_“And so the witches and the knight did as Asha requested and continued down the path, where they soon came upon a large hill.  A sign stood on the side of the path._

_"’You face the second challenge,’ the sign read. ‘In order to pass, you must show me the fruits of your labors.’_

_"’The challenge must be at the top of the hill,’ said Altheda.  ‘Come, let us climb!’_

_“Altheda took the lead, and the four began to climb the hill.  But after taking three steps, the ground gave way beneath them and they slid back to the bottom._

_"’Perhaps we can fly to the top,’ said Amata.  ‘I did not bring my broomstick, but a simple levitation spell should do the trick.’_

_“She cast the spell on herself first, and began to float up the face of the hill.  But she was hindered by the trees and plants, which grew to stand in her way, growing taller as she continued to fly higher._

_"’The ground needs to be more solid,’ said Asha as Amata landed beside her. ‘I will use a solidifying spell.’_

_“Asha used the spell on the ground, but the spell bounced off and struck a nearby tree, turning it to stone._

_"’I can use my gauntlets to dig into the ground,’ said Sir Luckless.  ‘Then I will not lose my grip.’_

_“He used his metal gauntlets to get strong purchase in the dirt and pulled himself up.  But the ground turned to sand beneath his fingers, and he slid back down to join the three witches._

_“Hours passed by as the three witches tried to scramble their way up the hill, only to slide back down to the bottom again and again._

_“Finally Altheda, near the point of exhaustion, reached within inches of the top of the hill._

_"’We're almost there!’ Altheda cried out.  ‘Come on, Asha!  Come on, Amata!  Come on, Sir Luckless!  You can do it!’_

_“As Altheda called out, the sweat from her brow dripped down her cheeks and sunk into the dirt of the hill._

_"’You have shown me the fruits of your labor,’ a voice boomed from around them.  ‘You may now pass.’_

_“It was though an invisible hand grabbed Altheda's robes, and she was lifted the rest of the way up the hill.  As she turned around, she saw Asha, Amata, and Sir Luckless floating to her side._

_"’We are very tired,’ said Altheda as the four leaned their weary bodies against the trees.  ‘But we are nearing the end of our quest.  We must continue on to the Fountain of Fair Fortune.’_

_“And so  Altheda, Amata, Asha, and Sir Luckless continued down the path…”_

_“We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz,”_ Hermione sung under her breath.

“See what I mean?” asked Teddy. 

“I see what you mean,” said Hermione. “Keep reading.”

_“…where they soon came upon a wide river,”_ Teddy continued.

_"’You face the third challenge,’ the river babbled to them.  ‘In order to pass, you must show me the treasure of your past.’_

_"’Whoever we should face must be on the other side,’ said Amata.  ‘Let us swim.’_

“Not very bright, is she?”

“She’s a fairy tale person,” said Teddy. “Fairy tale people rarely are intelligent. _Amata dove into the water, but the current was far too strong, and Asha, Altheda, and Sir Luckless pulled her from the water before she was swept away._

_"’Perhaps we can float across this time,’ said Asha.  She cast a levitation spell on herself and attempted to fly across the river.  However, the water rose up against her, and she was knocked back to the shore._

_"’Maybe we can freeze the water, and walk across,’ said Altheda.  She cast a freezing spell on the water, but so strong was the river that the ice was broken up within moments._

_"’This river is not too wide,’ said Sir Luckless.  ‘I think I can jump across.’_

_Before the three witches could stop him, the knight charged toward the water and leaped into the air.  He only made it two feet before he was pulled into the current and had to be rescued by the three witches._

_The four sat side by side on the river's edge, contemplating the best way to get across._

_"’Perhaps a bridge made of trees?’ asked Asha._

_"’Or a raft,’ said Altheda._

_"’If only I had my trusty steed,’ said Sir Luckless.  ‘He could easily jump this water.’_

_"’Perhaps not,’ said Amata, who was beginning to understand the task.  She stood up from the group and walked to the water.  Once there, she put the tip of her wand to her forehead, and pulled a memory from it, dropping it into the river._

“Brilliant!” Hermione cried out. "I love it when fairy tale people start getting with the program.” 

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Teddy. “It _was_ a tough one, though…”

“I suppose,” said Hermione. “I couldn’t even… can you do that? Pull memories like that?” 

“Yeah, you can,” said Teddy. “You can put them in what’s called a Pensieve. It’s like a big bowl that holds memories. Ogden has one, and I guess some of the other professors do, too. Helps you keep your memories straight, although no one’s ever told me if you lose the memory after you put it in there.”

“You lose bits of your memory so you can look at them later?” asked Hermione. “Okay, that’s not something I think I could ever do. I have a feeling I’d turn into the guy from _Memento_.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think I could have one, either,” said Teddy. “I think they’re mostly kept by people who have really important jobs where they have to remember a lot of things. Minister Shacklebolt probably has one. Maybe your sister…”

“No, Jean doesn’t seem the type,” said Hermione. “She loves to study so much, I doubt she’d want any of it to leave her brain. Anyway,” she patted him on his stomach, “Keep going, you’re almost done…” 

_"’You have shown me the treasure of your past,’ said the river.  ‘You may now pass.’_

_“Stepping stones appeared in the river, and the three witches and the knight hastily made their way across to the far shore._

_"’I see it!" said Amata.  ‘I see the Fountain of Fair Fortune!’_

_Indeed, in the distance, a high stream of water shot into the air.  Amata, Altheda, and Sir Luckless let out a cry of glee._

_Asha did not._

_"’I am tired,’ said Asha, sitting on the ground. ‘My sickness has gotten the better of me, and I am weary from our travels.  You must leave me here and go on.’_

_“Altheda, Amata, and Sir Luckless, try as they might, could not convince Asha to come with them._

_“’Let me help you,’ said Altheda.  ‘I can make a potion that will give you enough strength to come to the Fountain of Fair Fortune with us.  You can swim in the pool and be well.’_

_"’Thank you, dear Altheda,’ said Asha as Altheda looked around the garden, pulling together various herbs and roots to make a potion._

_“At last, she gave the potion to Asha, who drank it deeply._

_"’My dear Altheda," Asha cried out.  ’The weariness is gone!  The pain is gone!  I am now well!’_

_"’Then come,’ said Altheda.  ‘Let us get you to the Fountain of Fair Fortune.’_

_"’I do not need it anymore,’ said Asha.  ‘For I am now as healthy as I once was, thanks to your wonderful potion!’_

_“‘Come, Altheda,’ said Amata. ‘Let us continue to the Fountain of Fair Fortune, so that you may bathe and cure your powerlessness and poverty.’_

_“’I do not need it anymore,’ said Altheda.  ‘For I have learned that I am a skilled potionmaker, and can make my own fortune by healing others!’_

_"’Come, Amata,’ said Sir Luckless.  ‘Let us continue to the fountain of Fair Fortune, so that you may bathe and cure your grief and longing.’_

_"’I do not need it anymore,’ said Amata.  ‘For my love of the wizard blinded me to what he truly was: cruel and faithless.  I put that memory in the river, and can now see clearly.  I do not love him, and I do not miss him!’_

_“The three witches looked to each other in joy, and then turned to the knight._

_"’Come, Sir Luckless,’ said Amata.  ‘Let us continue to the Fountain of Fair Fortune, so that you may bathe in it as reward for your bravery!’_

_“The knight agreed, and the four continued up the path toward the Fountain of Fair Fortune, where the knight bathed in the magical waters.  He stood up, looked at the three witches, and flung himself, in his rusted armor, at the feet of Amata.”_

“Awww, he didn’t get naked?”

_"’I now have the courage,’ said Sir Luckless, ‘to ask for your hand and your heart, you who believed in me when the others did not, and wished me to come on your quest with you when the others wished me away.’_

_“Amata, now free of the curse of a spurned lover, realized that Sir Luckless was indeed a man worthy of her.  She accepted his proposal, and kissed him deeply._

_“And so, arm-in-arm, the three witches and the brave knight, now cured of their Foul Fortunes, walked away from the Fountain of Fair Fortune, which carried no enchantment at all._

_“And they lived happily ever after._

_“The End."_

\---------

“Okay, that was cute,” Hermione said as Teddy closed the book. 

“Told you it was good,” Teddy replied as he set the book aside. “Not X-Men by any stretch of the imagination, but still…”

“I loved it,” said Hermione. “Even had a kiss at the end.” 

“Figured you’d like that part,” said Teddy with a wink. “I think it’s the only story in here that has one, actually.”

“And did I happen to mention that you were fabulous?” she continued. “You didn’t even screw up your translation once.” 

“I might have guessed a few times,” said Teddy, taking a quick flip through the pages. “Some of these runes are probably going to be covered this year.”

“Oh, bugger that, you were terrific,” said Hermione, snuggling closer. “You know, you should think about getting into radio or something. You have a nice reading voice.” 

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” said Teddy, rolling his eyes. “A face for wireless, right?”

“No, I’m serious!” said Hermione, sitting up. “I mean, that would be so cool. I know you can’t do work on the telly, since you’re not allowed to do Muggle work. But your voice is great for the radio. And do they have theatre troupes or something in the wizard world?”

“A few,” said Teddy. “They’re really exclusive, though. I wouldn’t stand a chance. I don’t think they take people like me.” 

“Bloody hell, Ted, you’re a Metamorph!” Hermione insisted. “You’re whoever they want you to be!”

Teddy looked at Hermione, slightly uncomfortable. “I don’t know,” he said carefully. “It would be really fun, but… I don’t know…” 

“What else have you been thinking of doing?” asked Hermione. “You mentioned maybe Auror?”

“Yeah, that’s probably the only other job that I could put my… umm… my little talent to good use,” Teddy said with a shrug. “It’s what my mum did, and everyone who I talk to says it would be perfect for me, but I don’t know. Hard to follow in the footsteps of a stranger, you know?” 

“Yeah, I could see that,” said Hermione. “Besides, you’re not the intimidating type.”

“Hey, I can be intimidating!” Teddy said, barely noticing the crack in his voice as he did so. 

“I don’t mean it as an insult, love,” said Hermione. “I just mean… I don’t know. You need that certain kind of personality be a police officer. You’re not a Kingsley, not a Dedalus or a Hestia. You’re not like that. You’re too sweet.”

“Um, thanks,” said Teddy uncertainly. “I think…” 

“I should shut up,” said Hermione. “I keep digging a hole into your machismo.”

“No, it’s alright,” he said. “I know what you’re trying to say, believe me. I’ve thought about as much. It’s just…” he sighed deeply. “I don’t know. You have it lucky. You still have a few more years to figure out what you want to do when you’re at Bristol. I have one more year left at Hogwarts, then out I go, into a real world that I’m really not ready for.” 

“Yeah, lucky me,” Hermione said with a sigh. “More time not growing up.”

“Have you thought about your education yet?” asked Teddy. “What you’re going to study?” 

“Can I study magic?” Hermione asked, false hope in her voice.

“Unfortunately not,” Teddy said, running a hand through her hair. “Sorry.” 

“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “I’d love to study something like history or sociology. But degrees like that lead to the chip shop on the corner.”

“You’d look cute in their little hats, though,” said Teddy with a smirk that was answered by a shot to the side. 

“Probably computers,” Hermione continued as Teddy rubbed his kidney. “Or economics or something boring like that.”

“Computers aren’t boring,” he responded. “You could program games or get a job at Weta or something.” 

“Yeah, right,” said Hermione. “Like I’d ever be good enough to do something like that.”

“You’d be surprised at how good you are when you put your mind to it,” said Teddy. 

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll just make due.”

“You’re brilliant,” Teddy insisted firmly. “Brilliant enough to be just as successful as your sister, and _without_ magic. But you have to stop thinking that you’re doomed just because you can’t use a wand.” 

“But how can I _not_ think it?” Hermione said, sitting up. “My boyfriend, my sister, my nieces and nephews and in-laws can all use magic. It’s bloody hard to convince myself that I’m as good as you are!”

“It’s easy,” said Teddy. “We’re fucking idiots. We’re cocky, we’re arrogant, and we think we’re better than others. But break our wands, and you’ll have wizards who don’t know how to tie their bloody shoes. Who will start their houses on fire because they don’t know how to use the cooker. We can use magic, but Muggles use intelligence.” 

“Ride the Underground in the morning,” Hermione said with a small smile. “You might change your mind.”

“Your brains make you better than us, Hermione,” he continued, now sitting up to look her in the eyes. “Remember that. I’m an idiot without you around to smarten me up.” 

Hermione’s smile grew a little wider. “You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl, don’t you?”

“It’s nothing but the truth,” Teddy said with a shrug. “I loved you when I thought you might be a witch, and I loved you when I knew you weren’t. It didn’t change who you are.” 

Hermione took his hand in hers. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“I’m all about the tough love,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Well, I guess I need it sometimes,” she said. “But it is nice to know that my boyfriend thinks so highly of me.”

“What can I say?” said Teddy. “You could even make a brilliant chartered accountant.” 

“Prick,” Hermione said with a smirk.

“But your parents would be so proud!” 

“He knows how to sweet-talk _and_ he knows how to kill a mood,” she said with a sigh.

“I didn’t know I was killing the mood,” Teddy said, and an electric tingle ran through her as his fingers brushed her hair back. 

“When does Andi come home?” asked Hermione, using her parents’ nickname for Teddy’s grandmother.

“Not for at least another hour,” Teddy said, glancing at his clock. 

“Good,” she said, and dove on top of him. 

Teddy Lupin and Hermione Caroline Granger were still virgins. Hermione still hadn’t gotten up the courage to buy any condoms, which probably would have expired while they were both away at school, and she knew that she was always bad with medications, so birth control pills were out. Teddy had yet to memorize all of the contraceptive spells that had been discussed in the sex education week that fifth years were required to take at Hogwarts. 

“Besides,” he had asked Gavin and Jenn during a particularly deep discussion in the Gryffindor common room soon after his seventeenth birthday, “what are the rules about using those spells on a Muggle? Is it illegal?”

The young couple got by, though. As they lay comfortably in each other’s arms a half hour later, Hermione wore nothing but her baby blue knickers on top of Teddy, wearing nothing but his plaid boxers, Hermione wished that she had more female witch friends. Ones that weren’t closer to Teddy than they were to her. Ones who could know that she was dating a Metamorphmagus. 

She wished that she had a girl friend that she could make insanely jealous when she told them all of the benefits of dating a shapeshifter. They might not be having sex, but oh _God_ the things that boy could do with fingers and tongue that could take any form. Any length, any width… 

_Maybe Victoire,_ Hermione thought, before shaking the thought off.  _No, probably not. He’s too much like family to her. She’d be creeped out._

“What are you thinking about?” Teddy asked, rubbing her bare back. 

“That I should probably put clothes on,” she mumbled, her cheek pressed against into his bare chest. 

“That’s no fun.” 

“And that I’m so content right now that I don’t even care if your gran walks in and sees us nearly starkers.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, and she could hear the edge of sleep in his voice. 

“And how much I’m going to miss this,” she continued. “How much I _always_ miss this.”

“Your hand gets tired, too, huh?” he said with a chuckle. 

“I don’t just mean _that_ ,” she said. “But, yes, I will miss that. And, yes, I do go through more than my share of AA batteries through the course of the year. But I just mean _this_. Just being with you. I miss it so much.”

“I know how you feel,” Teddy said. “But just one more year. After that I can come visit you at Bristol whenever you want me to. And after that, who knows?” 

“Yeah,” Hermione replied slowly. “Yeah, who knows?”

Teddy lifted his head from the pillow to look down at her. “You don’t sound too sure of yourself.” 

Hermione sighed, and looked up at him. “Have you ever thought about us?”

“What do you mean?” Teddy asked. “Of course I do. All of the time.” 

“That’s not what I mean,” said Hermione. “I guess I just… do you think about _us_? Where we’re going? Where we want to be?”

“Honestly?” Teddy asked. 

“Honestly…”

“Honestly, I might start ring shopping after I’m done with Hogwarts. Why?” 

Hermione nodded, and Teddy was silently relieved that the thought of them getting married didn’t scare her stiff.

At least, he didn’t think it did. 

“I’ve been thinking about us a lot,” she continued.

“And?” 

“And how do we know that we’re doing the right thing?”

“I don’t follow you…” 

“I…,” Hermione stopped, trying to get her words right. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. I love you more than anyone I’ve ever loved. Probably more than anyone I ever will love.”

Teddy smiled at that. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m glad you feel the same way.” 

“But that’s the problem,” she continued. “I haven’t loved anyone more than you because we were the first for each other. The first… the first friends, the first relationship, the first kiss. The first _everything_.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Teddy asked. 

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, suddenly unsure that she should have even brought it up. “It’s just… I don’t know. I feel like we’re right for each other. But I don’t think we know it, because we haven’t had any other options, you know?”

“So, what are you saying?” Teddy asked. “Because, honestly, this seems like a really odd time for us to be breaking up, what with you still lying on top of me.” 

“I don’t want to break up with you,” she said quickly, shoving herself up onto her hands. Normally this view of her, hair and breasts hanging down over him, would drive him mad, but Teddy’s mind was somewhere else right now. “Don’t think that. Please, don’t think that.”

“Then what are you saying?” he asked. 

“I don’t know!” she said. “I guess… I mean… My mum and dad weren’t first for each other. Ron wasn’t the first for Jean, Jean wasn’t the first for Ron, Harry wasn’t the first for Ginny, Ginny wasn’t the first for Harry. Bill and Fleur, George and Verity, all of my aunts and uncles. And I don’t know about Andi and…”

Teddy closed his eyes. Andromeda didn’t talk about his mother and father very often, but his grandfather, his namesake, was discussed even less. “I don’t know about Ted,” he said. “But I’d assume that Gran’s family tried to force her into some pureblood dates before she decided on him.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have brought him…”

“It’s okay,” he replied, meaning it. “She doesn’t talk about him. But I know where you’re going with this. And I don’t know if my mum and dad had had any relationships before they got married, but judging by their ages it would surprise me if they _hadn’t_.” 

“I just…” Hermione sighed, laying back down on him again. “I just want to know that we’re not wrong for each other. That we’re not each other’s firsts in this big pattern that’s around our lives.”

“Not that big of a pattern,” Teddy said. “Percy and Penelope were each other’s firsts. So were the MacMillans.” 

“Yeah, and Neville and Luna had to break up before Neville found Uriela,” Hermione countered. “You know what I’m saying, then?”

“You want us to see other people?” Teddy replied. “You want us to, I don’t know, break up for the sake of breaking up?” 

“No, no, not at all!” Hermione said. “I just feel like… if we want to know if we’re right for each other, we might have to find out that there isn’t anyone better out there.”

Teddy closed his eyes. “Like when?” he asked. “Right now?” 

“No,” she said. “I don’t want to. I don’t have the guts to. I’m just… just think about it, okay? I don’t want to lose you. And I’m not ready to give you up. Just… it might be something we might want to think about this year. Before I go off to university.”

“Once you start going to a school with boys, you mean?” 

“Oh, God,” Hermione said, burying her face in his chest. “I shouldn’t have brought it up…”

“No, it’s fine,” Teddy said quickly. “I was just joking.” 

“Well, I’m not,” Hermione said seriously. “I love you more than anything, Teddy Lupin. I just want to make sure that it’s real and not, you know, left-over schoolgirl crush kind of love.”

Teddy nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said finally. “Alright, we’ll think about it. We’ll talk about it. See where things take us.” 

“Alright,” she said. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

“I’m still allowed to love you for now, though, right?” 

Hermione Caroline Granger smiled, and her kiss was all the response Teddy needed.


	37. Seventeen and a Half Years Later: Patronus

Seventeen and a Half Years Later

Patronus

\---------

 

“Proper technique and effect of the _Inanimatus Conjurus_ spell.”

“The what?” 

Victoire Weasley bent over her textbook. “ _Inanimatus Conjurus_. She gave it to us back in October.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Sarah Harvey said. 

“Do we still have the notes for it?” Christine Hogan asked, digging through her bookbag.

“I don’t,” said Sarah, leaning her elbows on the table. “I barely ever take notes. I just usually remember what I was taught in class, then use the books to fill in the blanks on any homework.” 

“I think that’s why she’s doing it,” said Victoire, looking up and down the Gryffindor table, where dozens of other students were frenetically re-studying their textbook. “Keep us honest. Make us realize that the O.W.L.s are going to cover more than last week’s work.”

“But it’s the week after holiday!” Sarah moaned. “This is cruel!” 

“What’s cruel?” asked the young red-haired boy who sat down on Victoire’s left.

“Allentide,” Victoire said to James Potter. “She’s giving a big quiz to all of her students.” 

“While their brains are still rusty,” Christine said. “I agree with Sarah. This is just cruel.”

“Allentide didn’t say anything to us about a quiz,” said James with a teasing smirk as Fabian Weasley sat down beside him. “Guess we must be special. 

“Don’t be so sure, squirt,” came a voice from behind them. Victoire turned around to see her boyfriend, Nathaniel Smith, along with his best friend, Sam Welts. “Hey, lady,” he said quietly, giving Victoire a quick kiss before sitting down on her other side.

“Morning,” Victoire replied. 

“Hi,” Christine said airily as Sam sat down beside Nathaniel. Victoire ventured a quick glance up at her and a roll of the eyes before returning to her books. Christine had been mooning over Sam since her second year.

“Hi,” Sam said with a brief smile. He had been returning Christine’s advances just enough to keep her on the hook. Victoire personally thought Christine should, to use her Uncle Ron’s colorful phrase, shit or get off the cauldron, and told Christine as much on many occasions, albeit less gruesomely. Christine agreed that it was the best way to go. 

Not that her behavior had changed one bit since their discussions.

“What, you think she’s going to give us a quiz, too?” Fabian asked Nathaniel, leaning across Victoire and James to speak to the older boy. 

“She might,” Nathaniel said with a shrug. “Wouldn’t be surprised.”

“But… but she wouldn’t!” James said, suddenly panicked. “I mean… I mean, you all know about the test. Why wouldn’t she tell us?” 

“Because you’re first-years,” Nathaniel said. “It’s all about getting you prepared for what to expect. Lull you into a false sense of security, then _bang_!” He smacked his fist into the palm of his right hand. “Quiz!”

“Oh, shit,” James said, breathing heavily. “Oh, shit. I need to study.” 

Victoire gave her boyfriend of two years a sharp look before turning back to young James, who was looking at his empty platter with fear. James was a bit of an odd one to figure out. When he first arrived at Hogwarts, he carried a bit of a swagger as he was called to the Sorting Hat. He knew that the sudden hush that had fallen over the Great Hall that night was because every student in the Hall was silently wishing that he, the first son of the great Harry Potter, would be told to sit at their table.

Ever since then, he carried himself confidently (sometimes a little overconfidently) when it came to his fellow first-years. He had a charisma that would be irritating with most people, but actually helped him get along with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who would otherwise wish for an arrogant Gryffindor to jump off a cliff. And he even handled the Slytherins fairly well, silencing them with wisecracks worthy of Uncle George or Aunt Ginny. No mean feat for anyone, since Slytherins’ opinions of anyone not wearing green and silver varied from dislike to sheer hatred. 

James was getting along well. Acted like it was all a lark. But Victoire knew better.  She saw the uncertainty in his eyes that first night. She saw his mouth mumble “Gryffindor, Gryffindor, please Gryffindor,” just before the Sorting Hat was placed on his head and the sheer joy that creased his face when the scarlet and gold table erupted into cheers. She saw him studying in the library and the Gryffindor common room more than Victoire herself had ever studied and saw him glance anxiously to the ceiling every morning at breakfast, waiting for a view of Maximillian, then saw him run upstairs to the years’ s’ dorm in Gryffindor Tower every night, to write a letter that he hoped no one knew he was writing.

In short, James Potter wanted to live up to his name. And, more importantly, he wanted to make Harry and Ginny Potter proud to have him as a son. 

“You don’t have to go study,” Victoire said, patting him on the arm. “There’s not going to be a quiz.”

“There might be,” Nathaniel said quietly. 

“Nate, stop it,” Victoire said shortly. “But if there is a quiz, you’ll do just fine, James. Allentide’s good with first-years, you know that. She warned us, she warned everyone, and there’s no way she wouldn’t warn you.”

“You sure?” James asked hopefully. 

“I’m positive,” Victoire said, ruffling the boy’s red hair, which caused him to blush and knock her hand away.

“I hate when you do that,” he muttered as Christine and Sarah giggled and Fabian let out a small snort of laughter. 

“Why do you think I do it?” Victoire said with a wink.

“Oh, mail call,” said Sam, lifting his chin to the roof of the Great Hall, where dozens of owls swooped down over the students. At least ten landed on the Gryffindor table, one in front of James, who thankfully had yet to put any food on his plate. 

“Hello, Max,” said Victoire as James unclasped the letter from Maximillian’s leg. “Want some toast?”

“Another letter from home?” asked Nancy Sprague, who sat down across from James. 

“Oh, this?” James asked, suddenly casually off-handed as he found himself in the presence of one of his fellow Gryffindor first-years.  _One of the prettier ones_ , Victoire added mentally, putting her hand over her mouth to hide her amused grin. “Oh, yeah, it’s from my mum. They like to write me. I guess. Not a big deal. I’ll… I’ll read it later.”

And with what Victoire assumed was a flirtatious smirk toward the young brunette, James tucked it into his book bag, sure to pore over it when he got back to the common room. Maximillian took a bit of toast from Victoire’s fingers before flying up and out of the Great Hall. 

“Damn it, Jareth,” Victoire heard from further down the table. “You’re standing on the jam.”

Victoire leaned over to see a large barn owl was indeed standing in the middle of the table, perched on top of the jar. Jack Pearson was waving at him, knife in one hand, dry toast in the other, but the bird stood firm. 

“Where’s Lupin?” he asked the other seventh-years. “Shouldn’t he be taking care of his bird?”

“He had an early meeting with Cairill today,” said Gavin Sorter through a large bite of sausage. “Couldn’t make breakfast.” 

“Well, aren’t owls supposed to just find whatever window you’re at?”

“Cairill’s in the middle of the castle,” Gavin explained. “Tough for a bird to find you if you don’t have any windows.” 

“Bloody hell,” Jack muttered. “I want marmalade!”

“It’s probably from Hermione,” Jennifer Devereau said. “Another one of their moonlight trysts. You mind if I take this from you, Jareth?” 

Jareth hooted in protest.

“I promise I’ll give it to Ted as soon as I see him,” Jenn insisted. “And I won’t read it.” 

“Wouldn’t want to read their bloody love letters, anyway,” Jack muttered.

Jareth hooted again. 

“Give her the letter,” said Edmund Lemming, “And I’ll give you an extra kipper.”

Jareth looked over at Edmund, who had indeed grabbed Devereau’s fork and was holding it along with his own in front of the bird’s eyes, a piece of fish on each one. Jareth hooted again, and reluctantly allowed Jenn to take the letter before plucking up the two pieces of herring and fluttering away. 

“Ha, victory is mine!” Jack said, grabbing the jam jar and prying it open.

“Victory’s not _yours_ ,” Gavin snorted, giving his girlfriend a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good job, love.” 

“Don’t call me _love_ ,” Edmund gasped. “Our affair’s supposed to be a secret, you bastard!”

“Thank you, dear,” said Jenn as Gavin tossed a roll at Edmund. 

“Hey, I gave up two perfectly good pieces of kipper for you!” Edmund continued.

Gavin snorted, and leaned in towards Jenn. 

“Sure you don’t want to read it?”

“Oh, bollocks,” Sarah groaned, ignorant of the occurrences further down the row. “There’s no way I’m going to be ready for this quiz.” 

 “Well, at least we get it out of the way early,” said Sam. “Then we get to the fun stuff.”

“Fun stuff?” asked Victoire. “What fun stuff?” 

“Well, Defense, of course,” said Sam.

“What’s so fun about Defense?” asked Christine. 

Sam and Nate looked at Christine and Victoire with shock.

“What,” asked Nathaniel. “You don’t remember what day it is?” 

\---------

Yes, Victoire had forgotten what day it was. She arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom two hours later, her brain still going over the questions she had had difficulty answering during the Transfiguration test. Not as difficult as she expected, of course, but it still made her realize just how much harder she’d have to study between now and her O.W.L.s in just a few months. 

The classroom door was locked. A simple piece of parchment hung from it, and was surrounded by a half-dozen Gryffindors from Victoire’s class.

Class is to meet

On the Seventh Floor

In the Barnabas Hallway

DO NOT BE LATE 

“What’s this all about?” Chelsea Lemming asked no one in particular.

“Guess we’re having class in a hallway,” Sam said with a shrug as the students left the classroom door, whispering questions and ideas to each other along the way. 

When they reached the Barnabas Hallway, so called because its tapestry of Barnabas the Balmy teaching ballet to trolls, the students came to a confused halt.

“Is there a classroom around here?” Christine asked, looking around the otherwise bare walls. 

“Where’s Professor Squall?” Chelsea asked.

“Fucking Slytherins,” Theresa Daulby muttered. “Hang a fake sign on the door. We fell for it like a bunch of saps. When I get my hands on them…” 

Before Theresa could go into detail about what she planned to do, the students heard brisk, heavy footsteps from the end of the hall. They all turned in unison to see Professor Calamus Squall approach, bearing the same heavy boots, severe crewcut, and ramrod-straight spine that the Gryffindor Head of House carried in Victoire’s first year.

“Professor Squall!” Sarah Harvey said loudly. “Where are we supposed to…?” 

Her question trailed off as Squall marched past the students as though they were invisible. As he reached the opposite end of the hallway, a few of the students made to follow him until he swiveled crisply on his heel and marched back towards the group.

This time the students kept their questions to themselves as Squall passed them by, this time stopping ten feet short of the end of the hall. He turned towards the wall, tapped it three times quickly with his knuckles. Paused. Four more times. Paused. Twice more. Turned around and, once again, passed by the students. 

“Poor boy’s gone mental,” Nate whispered to Victoire. Victoire, who would have usually elbowed her boyfriend for making comments about a Hogwarts professor who was only a few feet away, couldn’t find any reason to argue with the observation as Squall stopped yet again, and tapped another bit of the wall two more times. And once more.

Suddenly, there was a door in front of them. 

“Holy shit,” Aaron Mills breathed. “I thought it was dead.”

“Please enter,” Professor Squall stated in his firm, thin voice as he opened the door. “I trust that everyone is here, as the room will be inaccessible after I close the door.” 

Victoire and the other students exchanged wary glances, and then crossed over the threshold and into a large, torchlit room. Many cushions lined the floors; shelves full of books and odd devices lined the walls. And in the middle of the large room stood…

“Hi, Uncle Harry,” said Victoire with a small wave that earned her a sideways glance from Theresa. 

“Hello, Vickie,” Harry Potter said with a warm smile that he tried quickly to push down. “Um, Victoire.”

Victoire grinned at her uncle’s attempt to put on a serious, scholarly face as her classmates streamed into the room.  _He doesn’t want to show any favoritism,_ she thought as she sat down beside Christine and Nate on the cushions.  _That’s good of him._

Sam sat down beside Christine, and Victoire exchanged an amused glance with Nate as their two best friends tried their best to avoid each other’s blushing gazes. Nathaniel Smith felt the same way about the tension as Victoire did: just snog already!

She, along with most of the other students, jumped as the large door boomed shut behind them and the echoing clomp of Professor Squall’s boots accompanied him to the front. He stopped five feet in front of Harry and turned around. 

“Good morning, class,” he said, heels together, hands behind his back.

“Good morning, sir,” the class responded in their usual monotone manner. 

“I see you all arrived on time,” Squall said with a small nod. “Excellent. Today is an important lesson, not just for your O.W.L.s but also for your life after Hogwarts. It would be difficult if someone missed out like others have in the past. And it would be even more difficult to explain to our special guest why Gryffindor House would be so ungrateful for his presence.”

Victoire sighed.  _We’re all here,_ she thought.  _Why does Squall have to make us feel guilty for something we didn’t do?_

_I bet Jack probably overslept for a class one year or something. Uncle Harry probably wouldn’t care, but Squall could never live down that kind of humiliation._

“In case you have forgotten from his previous visits,” said Squall, “I would like to introduce Mr. Harry Potter.” 

“Yeah, right,” Victoire heard Sam mutter into Christine’s ear, “Like we _wouldn’t_ recognize the most famous wizard in England.”

“As you may remember,” Squall continued, “In his previous visits, Mr. Potter discussed some highlights of his career against the Dark Lord. He also discussed some of the techniques and defensive spells he and the other Champions used in the last Triwizard Tournament in 1994.” 

Victoire blushed slightly, closing her eyes in personal embarrassment. That lesson, last year, was particularly interesting, as Harry had taken it upon himself to invite Victoire’s mother to help with the Triwizard discussions. Uncle Harry always did his best to be even-keeled and professional during his visits to Hogwarts. Fleur Weasley, however, finding herself the center of attention so rarely these days, had no such problems with exaggeration.

“Today, however,” Squall said as Victoire banished the mental image of her mother dramatically re-telling of her battle against the vicious Welsh Green, “is going to be a little different. For this lesson, and for his N.E.W.T. level visits, Mr. Potter will be demonstrating and teaching defensive spells he himself taught other Hogwarts students during the Second Rise. 

“I expect everyone to be on their best behavior,” he added severely, “and to give Mr. Potter your strict attention. Mr. Potter?”

“Um, thank you, Professor,” Harry said, and walked up to the front of the class as Squall stepped back. Victoire could tell that Uncle Harry was still uncomfortable with the almost-militaristic style of the Defense professor, but he let it roll off his back easily enough when he faced the students. 

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning.” “Good morning, Mr. Potter.” “Morning, Harry!” all greeted Harry Potter in a mangled response. Unlike Professor Squall, Harry gave off different auras to different people. Some were nervous around him. Others thought he should be treated like royalty. Others still felt they had read enough about him in books and newspapers over the years, heard him spoken of on the wireless enough, that they felt they knew him personally. 

In other words, how was someone supposed to react to meeting a celebrity?

“Morning,” Victoire said simply. He was Uncle Harry, sure. But she learned long ago that advertising the fact that she was a part of The Family only led to people thinking she had an ego the size of Big Ben. James had done well enough to get past that quickly, but Victoire, who was only a niece to anyone of major importance (sure, her mum was a Champion, and her dad survived an attack by Fenrir Greyback, but in the public’s eye, Bill and Fleur Weasley weren’t nearly on par with The Big Four), had received more than her share of glares over the years. 

“Like your professor said,” Harry continued, “today I’m going to teach you what I believe to be a very advanced, very important spell. But before we begin that, does anyone know where we are?”

One Gryffindor raised their hand. 

“Aaron?” Harry said, and Victoire smiled with pride as he pointed to Mills. 

_He remembers names so well, considering he’s only met us twice before,_ she thought. Susan Dursley had once joked that Harry was in classes with her for five years and still had no idea who she was, so Victoire thought her uncle had improved quite a bit in the twenty years since then. 

“It’s the Room of Requirement, isn’t it?” Aaron asked.

“It is,” said Harry as a mumble rippled through the Gryffindors. “Good job.” 

“Five points,” said Squall from behind Harry, and Victoire remembered that, as a guest of the school and not a professor, Harry wasn’t allowed to give House points.

“But, sir,” Aaron continued, “I thought the Room didn’t work anymore.” 

“Well, that’s the popular rumor going around,” said Harry. “But in reality, only one aspect of the Room was damaged beyond repair during the Battle of Hogwarts. The others are still alive and well, as you can see. This particular aspect was used to house the DA during Dolores Umbridge’s term at Hogwarts. And for what I’m teaching today, Professor Squall agreed that it’s the most spacious, solid area in the school, and so is allowing his classes to be held here for fifth through seventh years.”

“Sir?” 

“Sarah?”

“Why haven’t we been told that the Room survived?” Sarah Harvey asked. “I mean, it’s not really a secret now that we’re in it, is it?" 

“An excellent question,” Squall said, stepping forward. “Since the Battle of Hogwarts, various protective enchantments have been placed on the Room. It can’t be opened without the consent of a professor, or in case of extreme emergency.”

“But why?” asked Sam. “I mean, it’s a bloody useful room still, isn’t it?” 

“I agree,” said Harry. “But the Headmaster recognizes that it’s just as dangerous as it is helpful. It housed the DA, it protected students escaping torture during the Carrow tenure. But aspects of the room were also used to aid the Death Eater assault in 1997, and also housed one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes for over fifty years before its discovery and destruction.”

“Basically,” Squall continued, “it’s a danger to the school as well as to the public to have a room like this available to anyone who wants it, especially after its access secrets were released to so many people during the war. It’s no longer simply a Hogwarts legend. It’s a fact, which makes it a liability.” 

“But don’t worry,” said Harry with a small smile. “You all know where it is now. Like Professor Squall said, _extreme emergency_. The spells concealing it are empathically enabled. So if the time comes when it’s truly needed again, it will be there.”

“But, sir,” asked Nathaniel, “if the Room is going to be accessible in an extreme emergency, how will we know how to get in? We were never told its access spells.” 

“Something which we may discuss in future classes,” Squall said shortly. “Mr. Potter? Time is ticking.”

“Oh, yes,” said Harry, taking a quick glance at his pocket watch. “Yes, today I will be teaching you the basics of the Patronus Charm.” 

Another excited mumble echoed through the Room. Victoire and Christine looked at each other, and Victoire saw that Christine was wearing the same thrilled grin that she herself was wearing.

“As I said,” Harry continued, “I will be teaching you _the basics_ of this spell. Before a few years ago, this spell was restricted to N.E.W.T.-level seventh-years in Defense and Charms. But Professor Squall has agreed with me that the basic technique should be learned sooner rather than later, with its multiple uses to be explained in later courses. Now, I can obviously tell that _someone_ in this room knows the answer,” he said with a grin as the Gryffindors looked up at him anxiously, “so who can tell me about Patronus Charms?” 

A few hands were raised.

“Nate?” 

“It’s a spiritual familiar,” said Nathaniel Smith. “You used it to fight off the dementors when you got brought to trial.”

“That’s right,” said Harry with a sigh, and Victoire could tell that, no matter how comfortable he had gotten over the years telling his story, he still found it mildly disconcerting that near strangers could tick off points of his personal history at will. “A Patronus is, for lack of a better description, an anti-dementor.  Like Nate said, it’s a spiritual familiar, created through positive energy to combat the negative energy of dementors. 

“Now, as we all know, Dementors are rarely a problem in England anymore. The armies created by Voldemort during the Second War were hunted down, destroyed, or otherwise disbursed until they ceased to be a threat. Their breeding is illegal, punishable by a life sentence in Azkaban. But that doesn’t mean they won’t come back. 

“And, more importantly, the Patronus is useful far above and beyond battling dementors.” 

Harry pulled his wand out of his back pocket and pointed it towards an empty space in the room. “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

The class gasped in awe as a stream of silver vapor emitted from Harry’s wand, forming into a beautiful, gleaming silver stag a few feet away from him. 

“Defensively,” he said as the glowing creature clomped soundlessly around him, “the Patronus is your second-best friend on a battlefield, besides your wizard and witch comrades. They’re right useful as a guide in the darkness, and can also be used as tools to communicate over long distances. They are fairly unreliable in that regard, since they grow weaker as they draw further away from their caster. The ability to speak also draws massive energy. As such, a communication from a Patronus can usually be no more than a few words before it dissipates. But they’re fast, they’re accurate, and they’re your best bet if you don’t have time to find an owl. Squall will give you more information on that in your next few years.

“Offensively, it can charge, blind, and block. And it can intimidate. Even the most skilled Dark wizard can be thrown off-balance if attacked by a Patronus, even if the damage is minimal.” 

“Heard he attacked a couple Slytherins with it in his third year,” Nathaniel whispered to Victoire with a note of admiration. “Wish I could do that.”

“He knew how to do it in his _third year_?” whispered Christine, overhearing the conversation. “Wow.” 

“I did,” Harry said, and the trio sat up straight, unaware that they were being overheard. “I was taught by my Defense professor at the time, Remus Lupin, by training against a boggart that turned into a dementor whenever it was in my presence. Professor Squall has told me that you’ve all learned about dementors in previous lessons, so you should know that they have different effects on different people. Their effect on me was particularly strong, always has been, so when the Ministry set them to guard Hogwarts in my third year, I was having a difficult time coping. Lupin helped me get past that.”

Victoire felt an odd sensation pass through her. Lupin. Teddy’s father. Who would have imagined, four years later…? 

“I taught the DA how to use Patronuses during my fifth year,” Harry continued. “At that time, the DA had everyone from seventh-years down to a second-year, and each was able to produce a Patronus of some degree of strength by the time we were found out. They weren’t all corporeal, which means that not all of them had a full animal form. Some wizards my age still can’t produce a fully corporeal Patronus. So don’t worry if today feels like a lost cause. Just keep at it and you’ll get it eventually.”

Harry adjusted his glasses, and the silver stag dissipated. 

“So, shall we begin?”

\-------- 

“Now, does everyone remember the spell?” Harry Potter asked as he and Squall walked around the circle. Victoire looked at Christine on her right and Sarah on her left. Sarah was biting her lower lip nervously, but Christine’s jaw was set in concentration.

“Yes, sir,” the class said. Harry and Squall had set the Gryffindors in a circle facing outwards for their first attempt. A spell cast improperly, Squall had explained, might do damage if pointed towards another student. Therefore, it was safer for everyone to aim into an empty space until they were comfortable enough in casting the spell and controlling their familiar. 

“We did it the same way,” Harry had said quietly to Victoire when she gave him an uncertain look. “Won’t be long until everyone can get comfortable, though. Ron, Hermione, and Cho had theirs contained in no time.” 

“Now, raise your wand,” Harry now ordered, “and think about a particularly happy memory. The stronger you can remember, the better chance you’ll get a strong Patronus.” 

Victoire thought back…  _Happy memory, happy memory…_

She thought of Christmas holiday. Her mother and father sitting on the couch in the drawing room of Shell Cottage, Bill with a cup of strong tea, sipping it through his still-scarred lips, Fleur wearing the extremely fluffy slippers that Matilda had given her as a Christmas present the year before. Seven-year-old Matilda sitting on the floor by the tree, eagerly tearing open her presents as Victoire tried the camera that she had been given as a gift from her wonderful parents.

“And cast!” 

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” Victoire cried out. She thought she saw a few vapors emitting from the tip of her wand, but before they could form she heard a cry of dismay from beside her and a blur shoot across the room. 

“Miss Hogan!”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Christine said anxiously, running across the room, where her wand had flown, now stuck between two books of defensive spells. 

“That was unexpected,” said Harry, glancing at Squall with a companionable smile. Squall was himself giving Christine a stern look as she pulled her wand free. Victoire looked around the circle, and saw Theresa Daulby’s wand turned to the inside of the circle, pointed in Christine’s direction.

_What?_ Theresa mouthed, letting loose an inaudible snicker before turning her wand back to the outside. Victoire’s eyes narrowed in anger at the girl. She had hoped that Theresa Daulby would have improved her attitude toward Christine in five years together. However, having Daulby in their House sometimes felt like they were carrying a Slytherin spy among their ranks. And Christine and Theresa’s attitude toward each other hadn’t warmed one bit in the time they had spent sharing a dorm room with Victoire, Sarah, and Chelsea. 

Victoire thought about calling out Daulby, telling Harry and Squall what had happened. But as Christine walked back, staring darkly at Theresa, who was now looking over her shoulder at the two girls, Victoire received a short shake of the head from her best friend.  _Leave it,_ it said.  _I’ll handle it how I want to handle it._

“Please keep your wand properly controlled, Miss Hogan,” Squall said severely, “or I will start to deduct House points.” 

Victoire chanced another look back at Theresa.  _No way she’d do it again,_ she thought.  _Not if it’s going to cost us points._

_Not that that’s ever stopped her in the past…_

“It’s fine, Professor,” Harry assured. “It can happen to the best of us. You all should have seen what your Herbology professor went through before he got some of his spells down.”

A few chuckles broke out among the class. Victoire loved Professor Longbottom as much as anyone, and had a hard time thinking that he used to be a dud when it came to wand work. 

“Don’t tell him I said that, though,” said Harry with a wink. “He’s loads better now.”

More laughter, this time with a softer, more reverent edge. They all knew about Neville, Ginny, and Luna’s war against Snape and the Carrows during the fall of the Ministry. They also knew about Neville’s encounter with Voldemort and his battle with Nagini. If anyone didn’t believe that Professor Longbottom was one of the best wizards out there after hearing those stories, they needed to get their head examined. 

“So let’s try it again,” Harry said. “Good job to all of you, lots of strong Patronuses for your first time. Now, if you liked what you had, keep it. If you can think of a better memory, go for it.”

Victoire thought hard. Maybe she could come up with something better than Christmas. After all, they had one of those every year. 

She thought back to her first week at Hogwarts. Going to Hagrid’s hut with Teddy for the first time. Meeting Buckbeak, still her favorite of all of Hagrid’s creatures. Feeling that click inside her, knowing that she would love nothing more than to study and care for magical creatures for the rest of her life.

“And now!” 

“ _Expecto Patronum_!”

Silver mist. And gold. Quite a bit of both, actually, mixed in with the others in her circle. She thought she could see a form through it. Maybe… 

And it was gone.

“Damn,” she muttered, lowering her wand. “Thought I had it.” 

“You almost did, Vickie,” said Harry. “You, too, Chelsea. Good job.”

“Thanks, Mr. Potter,” said Chelsea Lemming, blushing slightly at Harry’s compliment. Chelsea’s eyes lingered on Harry as he walked away, and Victoire desperately hoped that Lemming wasn’t crushing on her uncle. 

_Ew_.

“How are we doing for time, Professor?” Harry asked. 

“Five minutes left, Mr. Potter,” said Squall, glancing at his watch.

“Time for one more, then,” said Harry. “Is everyone ready to give it one last go?” 

“Yes, sir!” the class said at once.

“Excellent,” said Harry. “Now, it’s your last chance for a while. So make sure you think of something _really_ good.” 

Victoire thought hard. Something better than Buckbeak. Something that would really get the Patronus flowing…

She took a glance over at Nathaniel, to see that he was looking back at her, his eyebrows flicking up and down and a flirtatious grin on his face. 

_Oh, why not?_ Victoire thought.  _It’s not like anyone’s using Legilimency on me. Let’s get risqué._

She closed her eyes, and let the thoughts roll over her. 

_Night before holiday. She and Nathaniel sneak into an empty classroom, to say one last goodbye to each other before the Smiths visit Germany for two weeks._

_The door closes behind them. Their lips meet._

“And cast!”

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” 

_Tongues twist. She feels his warmth against her cheek as he exhales and inhales through his nose, breathing increasing with his arousal. A hand slides along her side, beneath her blouse, bare skin on bare skin._

“Everyone concentrate,” she hears Harry faintly in the background. “Focus on the memory.” 

_She pushes him into a chair, straddling him. Her blouse and jeans feel tight. She wishes he could take them off of her. She feels his hand slide up her chest. Tastes the treacle tart from dinner on his breath. Runs her hands through blue hair. Feels his hand slide behind her, fingers unhooking the clasp of her bra as she unbuttons his shirt._

She heard a loud squawk outside of her mind. A few gasps from her classmates. She dared to open her eyes. 

Standing before her is a Patronus larger than even Harry’s. A silver-gold glow that matched its eyes. Giant wings flapping.

The hippogriff bows to her. 

“Wow,” she hears Harry breathe from beside Professor Squall. The rest of the room is quiet. Victoire Weasley grins broadly, and bows to her Patronus.

_Wait…  
_

_Blue hair?_

Victoire Weasley’s Patronus dissipated so quickly that she could have sworn she heard an audible pop. The Room of Requirement was completely silent. She couldn’t even hear anyone breathing. 

She looked around anxiously at her fellow Gryffindors. They were all staring at her, mouths hung open, eyes wide.

_Oh, God,_ she thought.  _They know. How could they know?_

Her boyfriend, Nathaniel Smith, was also looking at her strangely. Not so much shock as… jealousy?

_How could_ he _know?_ her racing mind continued, speeding up.  _There’s no way… Did I say something? Did I say his name? Is Nate a Legilimens? He has to be, how could he know what I was thinking, why would he be looking at me like that if he didn’t know that I was thinking of snogging--?_

“Holy shit.”

“Language, Mr. Mills.” 

The sound of Professor Squall’s rebuke seemed to break the tension. The Room of Requirement was filled with cheers and hoots and hollers as Victoire was suddenly surrounded by her peers.

“Oh, my God, Vic, that was incredible!” Christine Hogan squealed. 

“How did you do that?” asked Sam Welts. “That was amazing!”

“So wicked,” said Chelsea Lemming, nearly hyperventilating. “So, so cool, you have to show me how you did that!” 

Although the group around her consisted of merely five Gryffindors (Five? Indeed, as Nate and Theresa were both standing a few steps away, giving Victoire very mixed reactions), Victoire felt more than a little claustrophobic.

“Separate, separate,” Professor Squall said calmly as he approached his students. “Excellent work, Miss Weasley. Quite excellent.” 

“Thank… thank you, sir,” Victoire stumbled, prying her eyes away from Nathan and looking at Uncle Harry, who was shaking his head in disbelief, a bewildered smile on his face.

“Very well,” said Squall, turning to the rest of the class. “Class is over for the day. For next session I would like everyone to write a twenty-inch essay on the history of the Patronus charm during the Second War.” 

A groan passed through the students, but silenced quickly when Squall raised his hand.

“I expect it to be nothing short of the standard I hold for Gryffindor House,” he continued. “Now, if everyone would thank Mr. Potter for his time, we will be on our way.” 

“Thanks, Harry,” “Thanks, Mr. Potter,” were spoken with mixed feelings as the students slowly made their way out of the Room of Requirement. Victoire tried her best to leave as quickly as possible, head down, trying to avoid anyone’s gaze, which of course meant that someone stopped her right away.

“Vickie!” 

Victoire reluctantly turned around as Harry strode towards her. Christine and Sarah both motioned that they’d wait for her outside, but Nathaniel passed her with barely a glance, causing the knot that had grown in her stomach to tighten.

“That was brilliant, Vickie!” Harry said. 

“Um, thanks,” Victoire said, tucking her blond hair behind her ear. “It really wasn’t a big deal, though.”

“Thank you for your lesson, Mr. Potter,” said Chelsea, stopping on her way out. “I really learned a lot.” 

“It was my pleasure, Miss Lemming,” said Harry with a smile, causing Chelsea to burst into a spate of nervous giggles.

“You’ll be teaching us again next year, right?” 

“I certainly hope so,” said Harry.

“What are we going to be learning?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise, would I?”

Chelsea burst into another fit of giggles that would have caused Victoire’s eyes to roll if they weren’t already firmly planted on the marble floor. “Alright,” said Chelsea reluctantly. “Well, I should… I should go.” 

“Nice meeting you again, Chelsea,” said Harry politely.

“Nice meeting you again, too, Harry,” Chelsea said, backing away slowly, only tearing her eyes away from Harry when she bumped into the doorway. The shock of the impact brought her back to reality, and she swooped out of the room quickly to avoid further embarrassment. 

Harry turned back to Victoire. “And don’t tell me it wasn’t a big deal,” he said. “Because it was.”

“It really wasn’t,” Victoire insisted. “I mean, plenty of people can do that.” 

“You realize it took me over a month before I could make anything corporeal?” Harry said as he walked out of the room. Victoire, realizing she was trapped, was forced to follow him out.

“Yeah, but you were up against dementors and stuff…” 

“Even during DA lessons, it took Ron and Hermione three lessons to make their Patronuses,” Harry explained. “And they just have little ones. Yours is the biggest I’ve ever seen.”

“Your uncle is right,” said Squall, following them out. “To make a Patronus of that size takes considerable talent. And gold Patronuses… well, they’re extremely powerful, and extremely rare. I salute you for your ability, Miss Weasley, and can only hope that you develop it further." 

_But it was a fraud!_ her mind cried out.  _A sham! It wasn’t a memory that created it, not a real one!_

“You must have had quite a memory to make something like that,” said Nathaniel, who had waited for her, leaning against the wall beside the tapestry, with Christine and Sarah beside him. She didn’t quite like the tone of his voice. 

“Yeah, I suppose it was,” Victoire said quietly.  _Don’t show, don’t show…_

“That was so cool, Vic!” Christine said. “I didn’t know you had it in you!” 

“So what time are you expecting me next, Calamus?” Harry asked as he and Squall walked down the hall. Victoire supposed she should stay with her uncle a little longer, which would have been a lot easier than dealing with her friends right now, but they forced her to hang back a few steps.

“What were you thinking about?” Sarah asked. “What was your memory?” 

“Um…” she ventured another glance at Nathaniel. “I probably shouldn’t talk about it.”

“Why not?” 

_Lie lie lie lie…_ “Because I don’t want my uncle to hear about it?”

_Okay, so_ that _wasn’t a lie._

“Ooooh,” said Christine, nudging Victoire’s shoulder. “Saucy minx.”

“You, too?” Nathaniel said flatly. “Thinking of the same thing I was thinking?” 

“Probably, yeah,” Victoire said, her eyes still back to the floor.  _There’s the lie we were talking about._

“Yeah,” Nathaniel agreed. “Probably. Guess I have to think of something better.” 

The words caused Victoire to look up at him in shock.

“I have to go study for Arithmancy,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

And with that, Nathaniel Smith turned around in the other direction and disappeared.

_Oh, God,_ her insides moaned.  _How does he_ know? 

“Little prat,” Sarah muttered. “Don’t worry about it, Vic. He’s just jealous that he wasn’t able to make a Patronus and you could.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t make a big deal about it,” said Christine, seeing the look on Victoire’s face. “He’ll get over it quick. He always gets that way when someone does better than him. You know how he was around me and Ted when he lost out on Chaser.” 

Victoire’s head spun to look at Christine, her eyes wide.  _Ted?_ For some reason the name sent electric sparks up her spine.

“Lupin’s the bloody captain,” Christine, who was a second-term Chaser herself, continued, apparently misreading Victoire’s reaction, “and I already had the position. Ted took Harry’s advice, retry the entire team. The way Nate reacted you’d think that he lost out to some greenhorn year  missing both thumbs.” 

“Yeah,” Victoire said. “Yeah, I suppose…”

“Third year doubles in two hours,” Harry said to Squall. “Got it.” 

“Again, it’s a distinct honor to have you here,” said Professor Squall. “Make yourself comfortable in the castle until the next class.”

“Thank you, Calamus,” said Harry. “Anything I can do to help Hogwarts, you know that.” 

Calamus nodded once, and then turned on his heel and marched away, leaving Harry at the bottom of the stairwell waiting for Victoire and her friends.

“Looks like I have the next two hours free,” said Harry. “When’s your lunch?” 

“We actually have lunch right now,” said Christine.

“Great,” Harry said to Victoire. “Do we want to find James, Fabian, and Teddy and find a quiet place to sit and eat? Ginny and I made some soup and sandwiches this morning.” 

“Actually…”

“Christine and Sarah are welcome, as well, there should be more than enough to go around.” 

“Wow, really?” Christine said. “That would be so cool!”

“We promise we won’t ask you about, you know,” Sarah stumbled nervously, “stuff.” 

“Actually, Uncle Harry, I should…”

“Harry!” 

Harry and the three Gryffindors turned to see Professor Longbottom walking towards them, robes and face covered, as usual, with various levels of dirt and grime.

“Neville!” Harry said, embracing his friend in a dirty hug. 

“I forgot you were here this week!” said Neville as they separated.

“Oh, yeah,” said Harry with a shrug. “Actually just got done teaching Vickie’s class about Patronuses.” 

“Oh, really?” said Neville, turning to the girls. “How’d it go? Anyone cast anything worth mentioning?”

“Not really,” said Victoire quietly. 

“Oh, come off it,” Christine exclaimed. “Vic cast a _huge_ hippogriff Patronus. It was massive and gold and really cool!”

“Wow,” said Neville. “I’m impressed, Miss Weasley.” 

“It’s really nothing.”

“Don’t be so modest,” said Neville. “Mine’s only a hedgehog.” 

“Well, at least that’s cute!” Sarah pouted. “I wish I knew what mine was.”

“You’ll figure it out eventually, Miss Harvey.” 

“Just my luck I’ll have a banana slug or a sponge.”

“So how are you holding up, Neville?” Harry asked seriously. 

Neville just shrugged. “Not bad, I guess,” he said. “Still a little bit in shock at times.”

“I know how you feel,” said Harry. 

“But she was strong,” Neville continued. “She lived a good life. Best you can say about anyone.”

Victoire pulled herself from her fog long enough to remember what they were talking about. She had heard Harry, Hermione and the others talking about it at the Weasley Christmas; Augusta Longbottom, Neville’s grandmother and childhood guardian, had died in December after a long bout with various illnesses that eventually crept up on most witches and wizards that had reached her age. Victoire’s immediate family had only met Augusta once or twice, so had not been invited to the small funeral. But she still mentally admonished herself for forgetting that it had happened and for probably talking a little too much in Herbology so soon after everyone returned from holiday, giving Professor Longbottom more trouble than he needed. 

“Best you can ask for in a life,” Harry agreed. “Look, do you have class right now? We were all going to find a place to sit down and have some lunch, and I’d love to have you join us.”

“Actually,” said Neville, brightening a bit. “You want to come out to the greenhouse? Nice and warm, keep away from swarming students looking for autographs? Uri and I eat our lunches out there all the time, I was just on my way to the Runes classroom to meet up with her.” 

“That would be fantastic,” said Harry, patting Neville on the shoulder. “I’ll go grab the food from Calamus’s room. Girls, if you want to go find the boys…” At this Harry pulled out an aged piece of parchment and his wand.

“You’re joking,” Neville said with a snort. “You actually brought it with you?” 

“Wouldn’t feel like Hogwarts without it.  _I solemnly swear I am up to no good_.”

“Whoa,” said Sarah, leaning in. “Is that _the map_?” 

“It’s the map,” said Harry. “Alright, James and Teddy are both in the library, and Fabian’s in the Great Hall. Want to go grab them and then meet us at…?” he glanced up at Neville.

“Greenhouse One,” said Neville. “My office.” 

“Greenhouse One in fifteen minutes?”

“Sure!” said Sarah. 

“Actually,” said Victoire, “I probably shouldn’t…”

Harry looked at his niece with disappointment. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Is everything alright?” 

_No, not everything’s alright,_ she thought.  _Part of me doesn’t know if I can sit in the same room as Ted right now, and the other part of me wishes that I could sit in the same room with no one_ but _him._

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Victoire said. “I’m just…” 

Her mind flashed back to the vision she had in the Room of Requirement. Kissing Ted Lupin. Feeling his hands on her body. Running her fingers through his ever-changing hair.

“I’m just tired from class,” she said, another thrilling spark surging through her that she quickly tried to stomp out. “It took a lot out of me.” 

Harry nodded. “Absolutely,” he said. “A Patronus that size could sap the energy out of even the most experienced wizard. Go lie down. Eat some chocolate. Professor Lupin gave me some after I worked with the boggart, it did wonders.”

_Lupin._

“Alright.”

“If you start feeling queasy,” Harry continued, putting his hands on her shoulders and trying to check eyes that kept darting towards the floor, “you go to the Hospital Wing, alright?” 

“Alright,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Uncle Harry, kissing Victoire on the forehead. “I’m just sorry I didn’t think of it sooner. Of course this would happen. You go rest. I’ll be here all week, I don’t want you to wear yourself out on my account.” 

“Do you want us to come with you?” asked Christine.

“No, I’ll be fine,” said Victoire, forcing herself to smile. “Go. Have fun.” 

Christine looked at her uncertainly, but Sarah, the prefect of Gryffindor along with Aaron Mills, had no problem accepting Victoire’s invitation to have lunch with _the_ Harry Potter, even if it meant eating with two professors, two first- years, and…

\---------

  _Ted Lupin._

The rest of Victoire Weasley’s day seemed to pass by in a haze. When she returned to the Gryffindor common room, she went straight up to the girls’ dormitory and flopped down on her bed. 

She wasn’t tired. Not physically, anyway. Whatever was affecting her, she knew that it had nothing to do with the Patronus itself.

_A Patronus of that size takes considerable talent,_ she heard Professor Squall echo in her head. _And gold Patronuses… well, they’re extremely powerful, and extremely rare._

She must have some talent to create something that large, with an energy so different than other Patronuses. Because, unlike other spells that she had cast in other classes, she felt as though this giant golden hippogriff had used up none of her energy.

_Must have had quite a memory..._

_What the hell just happened?_ Victoire thought, rolling onto her stomach, chin propped against her pillow. On the wall beside her bed, the silver Moke skittered across the painted forest background.  _That wasn’t a memory._

_It started as one,_ her rational (irrational?) mind countered.  _Then it became so much more…_

There was that spark again. That electric thrill, that tight feeling in her stomach (and below) that hit her whenever she thought about kissing…

_No,_ she thought.  _No, no, no…_

\---------

_Why not?_ her mind asked as Binns droned through another History of Magic lesson. 

_Because I have a boyfriend?_

_He didn’t seem like quite a decent guy in Defense. Maybe it’s a sign._

_And he’s like my cousin!_ she thought for the fiftieth time, this time as she nearly poured her entire bottle of mole entrails into her Potions cauldron.

_But he’s not your cousin._

_And he has a girlfriend!_ she screamed to herself as she sat at the Gryffindor table at dinner, barely touching her food, telling Christine that she probably wouldn’t be back until after Quidditch practice, as she decided to take a walk and visit Buckbeak for a while, and she would try to not wake her up if she decided to crash early.

_That’s the least likely excuse of all,_ her brain said as she sat down beside the hippogriff, pulling her glove off and brushing his feathered mane beneath the winter stars.  _You’ve lived at Hogwarts for five years. You know that there’s always at least one dramatic breakup a week around this school. Who says that Ted and HC are going to last forever?_

“I can’t think like that,” Victoire said quietly to Buckbeak. “I can’t…”

Buckbeak squawked, nuzzling her neck with his razor-sharp beak before bending over and picking up a dead rabbit. 

“I’m with Nate,” she said to him. “And Ted’s with HC. I can’t wish for bad things to happen to them because of one damn sex fantasy I had about him. And I can’t break up with Nate just because I hope that Ted might be available sometime before June. That’s not how it works.”

Buckbeak just stared at her with one eye, still chewing on the rabbit. 

“He’s just a friend,” she said firmly. “He’s just… He’s just Teddy.”

_There goes that surge again…  
_

“That’s all he can be…”

Her voice trailed off. 

_Not very convincing, is it?_

“Damn it,” she sighed, resting her head against Buckbeak’s side, wishing that the thoughts of being with Ted Lupin would just disappear.

\--------- 

But of course the thoughts didn’t disappear.

After stopping into Hagrid’s hut for a quick cup of tea, a cup of tea that Victoire barely spoke three words over, instead choosing to listen to Hagrid go on about his Thestrals, Victoire found herself walking alone in the quiet darkness, the moon’s light reflecting a pale blue off the snow-covered grounds as she returned to the castle. 

She walked alone silently, which allowed those unwanted (wanted?) thoughts free reign. Thoughts of Teddy Lupin, alone with only her. Thoughts as simple as her head on his shoulder, thoughts as complex as rolling around on a forest floor, clothes in a tumbled pile beside them.

_Do you think the hair color thing only stops on his head? Or does it go down further?_

_Damn it, stop it!_

_Why should I?_

And so the mental argument continued as she entered the school and made her way towards Gryffindor Tower. As much as she wished she could stay by herself until she had this all figured out, she knew that tomorrow was another day, and that day was coming in just a few hours. Hopefully sleep would straighten things out.

If there was one good thing, it was that Nate had a project due tomorrow for Arithmancy, and was going to be in the library with Chelsea until late. So she could put off anything with him until tomorrow, when her brain was hopefully back to its normal state. 

And Quidditch practice would still be going, so that kept Christine, Sam, and…

_…Him_ … 

…out of the common room. Sarah and Aaron were on prefect duty, so Victoire thought that she should be able to get upstairs, get into her pajamas, and into bed without having to talk to anyone.

“Password.” 

“ _Gobstone_.”

The Fat Lady nodded, and her portrait swung open, revealing the Gryffindor common room, which sounded surprisingly empty. She walked into the warm light of the fireplace, took a quick look around, and turned on her heel to climb the stairs. 

There was someone there, sitting by the fireplace.

With green hair. 

_Fuck,_ Victoire panicked.  _Not now, he’s not supposed to be here!_

Hoping against hope that he didn’t hear her enter the common room, Victoire tiptoed across the floor, taking the occasional glance over at Ted Lupin. Each time she did, the knot in her stomach tightened a little more. 

_Merlin’s pants, he really is cute, isn’t he? Why didn’t you see that before?_

_Stop it. Not now._ Please _not now._

Ted didn’t look up as she passed. In fact, he didn’t even move at all. His head was hung low, elbow on his knee, forehead propped in his hand. He was staring at a piece of paper.

_Must be homework,_ she said.  _Please be too busy._

But why would a piece of paper make him look like someone just died?

Victoire Weasley stood rooted to the floor, she looked towards the stairs. Back at Ted. Back up the stairs again. 

_Damn it, he’s your friend! Suck it up and go see what’s wrong._

Victoire took a deep breath, exhaled out air that was shaking with nerves. She pulled her foot free from the floor. Took a step. And another. 

“Ted?”

No answer. 

“Ted?” she repeated, closer this time.

Still no answer. 

Now she was practically standing over him. “Ted, what’s wrong?”

Still no answer. Ted was completely lost in whatever he was reading. Victoire forced herself to sit down beside him, butterflies doing the hula in her stomach the entire time. She lifted her hand, which felt like it was suddenly made of lead, and put it on his shoulder. 

She expected him to jump when she made contact. What she didn’t expect was for him to look up at her with a hopeful, expectant smile on his face.

Then she saw the smile melt as he came back to reality. He saw that she wasn’t who he wanted to see. 

“Oh, hi,” he said, quickly folding the paper in half. Quarters. Eighths.

“Sorry,” said Victoire. “I didn’t meant to…” 

“No, it’s fine,” Teddy said with a quick shake of the head.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at Quidditch? 

“We finished early,” he said, and she could hear a hoarseness in his voice. “Davies took a Bludger to the arm about five minutes in. We couldn’t keep practicing without our third Chaser, so we rescheduled for tomorrow when he gets out of the Hospital Wing.”

“Where’s Christine?” 

“Upstairs,” Ted said, motioning with his head. “She and Welts went up to the dorms to get cleaned up and whatever.”

“Oh,” Victoire replied. “Ted, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“It didn’t look it.” 

Ted sighed sorrowfully and turned his head to watch the flickering fire.

“Is it Andromeda?” Victoire continued, forcing herself to move closer. “Is everything alright with your gran?” 

“No, it’s not her,” he said quietly. “She’s fine.”

_Damn it_ , Victoire thought.  _Why does it have to be me? Where’s Jack? Where’s Gavin? Jenn? I’m in no state to try to comfort him, no matter what’s wrong_. 

“It’s Hermione.”

_Oh, shit. No, no, no, I cannot be here for this._

“What happened?” she asked, amazed at the calmness of her voice.

“It’s…” Ted looked like the words were stuck in his throat like a chicken bone. At last, he managed. “It’s complicated.” 

“It usually is,” Victoire replied.  _And I know it as much as anyone._ “But try me. I’ll tell you if my brain can’t handle it.”

Teddy took another deep sigh, and as he spoke, his eyes never left the fireplace. “Last summer,” he said, “we did some… we had a talk. Or two. Or ten. We talked about where our relationship was going. What we had, what we wanted to have. And she started talking about… doubts.” 

“Doubts?” Victoire hoped that Ted couldn’t hear her heart suddenly accelerate.

“Yeah…” 

“Doubts like… doubts like what? Doubts like she wanted to slow down? Doubts like she wanted to break up? Doubts like she doesn’t love you anymore?”

_Okay, that was asking too much. Let’s be a little less Miss Tactless, shall we?_

“She says she still loves me,” he said quietly, fingering the folded-up paper. “She says that… she says that she still wants to be with me, and wants nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with me.”

“But?” Victoire asked. “There has to be a ‘but’ in there, or you wouldn’t look like you’re looking.” 

“But she’s not sure,” he continued. “She says that she’s afraid that we only love each other because we’re all we’ve ever had. Because we’ve been talking about getting married since we were four. She’s afraid that we don’t… She’s afraid that we don’t even know if we’re right for each other, because we haven’t had any basis of comparison.”

“So what does she want?” Victoire asked, her heart beating faster. “She wants to… what… see other people?” 

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said. “We talked more over holiday, and she just wrote me with her decision.”

“What’s her decision?” 

“When summer comes around she just wants to be friends,” he said, and she could hear the cracking in his dry throat. “Next year, when I’m trying to get my life together and she starts at Bristol she wants to keep it to… you know… She doesn’t want to write. Only wants to see me on holiday. She wants to keep that up until we both can’t take it anymore or until… you know…”

“Until one of you finds someone else,” Victoire breathed. 

“There it is.”

“That… that doesn’t sound that bad,” Victoire said. 

“It sounds horrible,” Teddy groaned.

“But she still loves you…” 

“But what if she _does_ find someone else?” Teddy asked, looking at her for the first time. “And she will, I know it. She’s smart, she’s beautiful, she has so many things that she loves that would make your average guy melt…”

“Ted…” 

“And I know she will find someone else,” he continued. “She’s been in an all-girls school for seven years. She hasn’t had a lot of opportunities. She’s not going to come back until she’s been on a few dates. This whole thing would be a waste if she didn’t. And it’ll be just my luck that one of them’s The One, you know?”

“But so what if they are?” Victoire argued. “Ted, the whole reason she’s doing this is because she loves you. She’s doing it because she wants to make sure that she just loves you the way that you’re supposed to love the person you get married to and have children with. If she finds someone else, someone who’s not you, then, well, it means that she did the right thing, and she’ll know that her love was just…” 

“Just friends…”

“More than that,” Victoire said with a shrug. “She does love you. I can see it whenever you’re together. But there’s a difference between love when you’re our age and love when you’re…when you’re my granddad and grandmum’s age. She just wants to make sure that she has that sort of love, for you or for anyone. And I think she wants to know that you have that same love for her.” 

“Like I could ever think of someone else…”

“Maybe you should,” Victoire said, daring herself to rub his back. “You know that you’re not the only man HC could fall for, so you should also know that there are other women who could fall for you, too.” 

_Like me._

“I doubt I’m ready for that yet,” he said, looking back to the fire. 

“You don’t have to be,” she said, pushing herself ever closer. Now her arm was around his shoulder as he hunched forward. “It’s not like it ever takes… it’s not like it’s always the sort of feeling you had with HC. I know that it took a long time for you to get together. Sometimes it… Sometimes it just hits you like a bolt from heaven. One day they’re there, and one day… one day they’re _there_.”

Teddy looked up at her, and she realized just how close she had gotten to him. Inches away from those lips she had been dreaming of. 

_Kiss him. Kiss him now, you know you want to…_

“Like you and Nate?” he asked. 

“Not exactly,” she said in almost a whisper. God, he felt so close _kiss him_!

“I don’t know,” he said, turning away from her. “I just hope that it happens quick either way. I miss her already.” 

All of the tension that was building inside her came crashing down.

_Kissing him would be the worst thing right now,_ she thought.  _She just ended it, for God’s sake. And you still have a boyfriend. Don’t make it harder on everyone._

“If she comes back,” said Victoire, pulling her arm away, “she comes back. And no one will be happier for you both than I will.”

And as she said it, she knew that she meant it. She considered HC her friend as much as Ted, and she knew that she wanted nothing more than to see them both happy. 

“But if she doesn’t…”

“If she doesn’t,” Victoire continued, “Then she doesn’t. You move on. Just know that I love you either way, alright?” 

_Did you just say that?_

Ted looked back to her, and gave a small, weary smile. “Thanks,” he said. Victoire couldn’t tell how he took the comment.

Hell, she couldn’t even tell how _she_ took the comment. 

“You know,” Teddy said with a chuckle, “for a fifth-year, you talk a lot of sense.”

“I’m a girl,” she said. “Girls are perceptive that way.” 

“I just hope you’re right.”

“So do I.” 

And he wrapped his arms around her. And she wrapped his arms around him. And she gave him a comforting hug, the kind that two friends give each other, nothing more.

“And on that note,” he said. “I should go sleep before I… you know… before I break down completely.” 

“No one wants to see that,” Victoire said with a small smile. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“God, I hope so,” Ted said with a sigh, pushing himself to his feet. “Night, Vic.” 

“Good night, Teddy.”

And Ted Lupin left Victoire Weasley alone by the fireplace. Alone with her thoughts which weren’t quite as raging as they had been earlier. 

The couch bounced beside her.

“Well, that was interesting.” 

Victoire turned to see Chelsea Lemming sitting where Ted had sat just a minute before, a broad grin on her face.

“Chelsea!” Victoire said, panic starting to take her as she looked back towards the entryway. “When did you come in?” 

“About five minutes ago.”

“And you… you heard…” 

“Most of it,” Chelsea replied, grinning wider than before. “Saw most of it, too. I hung back because I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Oh, no, Chelsea, it wasn’t what it looked like…” 

“Well, that’s good,” Chelsea teased, “because it looked to me like Ted Lupin just broke up with his girlfriend and you wanted to comfort him with a good snog.”

Victoire wanted to protest, but… “Was it that obvious?” she asked weakly. 

“To me, it was,” Chelsea said with a shrug. “But don’t worry about Ted.”

“Why not?” 

“Well, one, he’s a boy. And two, he’s a distraught boy. I honestly doubt he’ll even remember talking to you tomorrow, let alone that your hair smells like apple shampoo.”

Victoire stared at Chelsea in shock, breaking only long enough to get a whiff of one of her blonde locks. 

“Don’t feel guilty,” Chelsea said. “I’d want to snog him, too, if I were in your position.”

“Look, could we not talk about this now?” Victoire asked, anxiously looking around the room. “Someone might come down." 

“Like Nate?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” 

“Alright,” Chelsea said with a shrug, her grin never leaving her face. “Wanna head to bed?”

“Actually, yeah,” Victoire said as they stood up. “I think I need to just snuggle up and sleep.” 

“You might want to take a hot bath, too,” said Chelsea. “Always makes me feel better when I’m all conflicted. Or a cold shower. Depends on how _exactly_ you’re feeling.”

“Well, a hot bath might…” Victoire stopped, suddenly hearing her friend's words. “Chelsea, I do not need a cold shower! It’s not like that!” 

“You sure?” Chelsea laughed. “Cuz honestly, I got a little randy watching you try to go at it with him. I don’t even want to think about how _you’re_ feeling.”

“It’s not like that,” Victoire insisted as they climbed the stairs. “It’s not at all like that.” 

_Fingers through blue hair. Tongues twisting. Hands trailing up your chest._

_Stop it.  
_

_You’re such a liar._

“Not at all,” she said, feeling that knot again as they opened the door shared by the fifth-year girls.  

Maybe a little lower than her stomach.

“Well, if you say—“ 

“Eee!”

A high scream pierced Victoire’s ears as she and Chelsea entered the room. She saw two naked bodies roll off of a bed and onto the floor, hidden from view. 

“What the hell?” Victoire gasped as a hand flew up onto the bed and pushed up.

“Hi, Vic,” Christine Hogan said, her face furiously red. “I didn’t know you were coming back so early.” 

“What… How…”

_She and Welts went up to the dorms to get cleaned up and whatever.  
_

“Oh, please, not again,” Chelsea Lemming said, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, does this have to happen every time you two are alone?”

“You _knew_ about this?” Victoire said, spinning to her before she was struck by another thought. “Wait, how could you get Sam in here? There’s a jinx. Boys can’t…” 

“Oh, for God’s sake,” came another voice from behind the bed. One that wasn’t Sam’s. “Keep your fucking sack together, Weasley.”

Theresa Daulby pulled herself up, naked, from beside Christine’s bed. 

“Um,” Christine squeaked. “Hi, Vic. Um…”

Victoire just stood stock-still. She felt as though her voice was gone forever, and that her jaw had completely unhinged itself. 

“And please don’t ever confuse me with Welts,” Theresa continued, grabbing a robe. “I know I don’t have any tits, but that doesn’t mean I look like a fucking boy.”

Chelsea threw her bag onto her bed as Theresa put her bathrobe on. “I didn’t know you two were in here,” she said to Christine. “Sorry.” 

“Um, I…” Christine said, still on her knees behind the bed, hidden from view below her shoulders.

“I need to get a shower,” said Theresa. “Have fun, you three.” She walked out of the dorm room, leaving the three girls alone. 

As the door closed behind her, Chelsea looked between the two best friends. “You mean she doesn’t _know_?” Chelsea asked Christine.

“I was… I mean, I was going to…” Christine stammered, pulling her blanket up with her to cover herself. “I mean, this wasn’t supposed to be… It isn’t…” 

“Wwwwwwwwhhhhhh…” was all Victoire could bring herself to say. Whatever word was going to come next seemed to have become stuck in her brain.

“Look, I… I don’t know how to explain…” 

“Victoire wants to snog Ted Lupin.”

“ _CHELSEA!_ ” 

“What? Like your brain didn’t need a reboot.”

“A what?” 

“So that’s why you were looking at Nate so weird at Defense!” said Christine. “You were thinking about Ted!”

“I… No, I wasn’t!” 

“Of course you were,” said Chelsea.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” said Christine. “Ted’s really nice, and he’s really cute.” 

“Look, I wasn’t thinking about Ted and there are apparently more important things to talk about and could you _put a bloody shirt on before my brain goes into complete paralysis!?_ ”

“Oh, sorry,” said Christine, dropping the sheet and grabbing her pajama pants and an extra-big t-shirt from beneath her pillow. 

“I’m sorry, Vic,” said Chelsea. “I didn’t think they’d be… and I didn’t know that you didn’t know.”

“How…?” 

“I walked in on them once,” said Chelsea with a shrug. “Before Christmas. She made me promise not to tell you or Sarah.”

“ _This happened before?_ ” 

“Yeah, once,” said Christine. “Or twice. Four…”

“ _Four times?_ ” 

“At least?”

“But… but… but you and… hate…” 

“I know,” Christine stammered. “I know it’s hard to explain.”

“ _Haaaaaate…_ ” 

“I know.”

“You… Sam… she… with the…” Victoire weakly mimicked a slashing wand. 

“I know,” said Christine. “That’s… that’s kind of how this one happened. We… we had a row about Defense until we started shagging.”

Victoire’s lip twitched, and she fell helplessly onto her bed. She tried to say more as Christine pulled on her t-shirt, but only a quiet whimper came. 

“Look, it’s… Vic, it’s just a thing,” Christine said with a shrug. “I don’t know how to explain it. I still don’t like her. She doesn’t like me. But… it was fun the first time it happened. And the second. So I think we just decided ‘why not?’”

“Sam?” Victoire managed to ask. 

“I still like him,” she said. “But he hasn’t really shown any interest. Until he does… well… this is fun, too?”

“But… But…” 

“I think what Vic’s trying to say,” said Chelsea, leaning against her bedpost, “is that Sam does like you, and that he is interested, and that you should make a move on him instead of sleeping with your mortal enemy.”

Victoire nodded. 

“But, she’s afraid to say it since she’s having difficulty kissing Ted because she’s too busy sleeping with a little prick like Nate. She’s projecting. It’s not pretty.”

“He’s not…” 

“He is, Vic,” Christine said. “He’s a jerk. He doesn’t even try to hide it around you. He teases the lower years all of the time. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He hates whoever’s better than he is.”

“But in Defense,” Victoire said quietly. “I was thinking about Ted. Nate was mad, it was like he _knew_.” 

“No, Nate was mad because you made a Patronus and he didn’t,” said Chelsea. “He said as much to me when we were studying tonight. He was mad because he couldn’t do it himself, because you’re better at it than he is. And, for someone who’s dated you for more than two years, you would really hope that he would compliment you for casting a spell that very few wizards or witches can cast as strongly or as quickly as you did instead of giving you the stink eye and saying some nasty things about you.”

“He… he wouldn’t…” 

“He knows you’re friends with Christine and Sarah,” said Chelsea, “so he thinks I’m a neutral third.”

“So… So it wasn’t because he knew about Ted?” 

“No, it wasn’t,” said Christine. “But would it matter if it was? Ted’s a thousand times the man that Nate is.”

“I say dump him and make a move,” Chelsea said with a shrug. “Personal opinion, of course.” 

“But it’s HC,” said Victoire. “He loved… he loves her. It’s not like they’re breaking up for good. They might get back together.”

“Yeah, they might,” Chelsea said. “But they might not. Willing to take that chance?” 

“Wait,” Christine said, raising her hand. “Teddy and HC broke up? This isn’t just, um, wishful thinking?”

“It’s complicated,” said Victoire, realizing that that phrase probably paled in comparison to whatever was happening with Christine, Sam, and Theresa. 

“Not that complicated,” said Chelsea. “They’re seeing other people. Making sure that they’re not falling for each other because they haven’t had anyone else.”

“How do you know about this?” Christine asked Chelsea. “Why have you suddenly become Chelsea Lemming, Oracle?” 

“She listened to most of our conversation,” said Victoire. “Saw me almost kiss him.”

“You _almost kissed him_?” 

“But I didn’t!”

“Well, that tears it,” said Christine. “He’s single, and he’s cute, and you’re friends and you’re interested. There’s only one thing to do.” 

“I don’t… I’ll be his rebound. After her.”

“Everyone’s someone’s rebound,” said Christine. 

“I… I don’t know,” Victoire said, putting her head in her hands. “I just need to think. Or not think. Or something. I need sleep so bad right now.”

“No problem,” said Chelsea. “Just close your drapes, we’ll be whisper quiet.” 

“And don’t think this is over, either,” Victoire said to Christine, her eyes narrowed. “Just because I’ve had the most brain-battering day of my life doesn’t mean you’re getting off easy.”

“Bad phraseology, Vic,” said Chelsea. “I think they were getting off pretty…” 

“Brain battered,” Victoire said loudly, closing her eyes. “No innuendo talky.”

“I know,” Christine said quietly. “We’ll talk. I know I should have told you earlier, but…”

“But nothing,” Victoire said. “And Sarah gets her say, too. Just because you’re… doing whatever it is with Demon Daulby when Sarah’s on prefect duty doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve to know.” 

“I know,” Christine said. Even though she and Victoire were best friends, Sarah Harvey came in a close second for both of them. 

But whatever was going to happen, it was going to have to wait. 

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Victoire said, not even worrying about her pajamas as she lay down. “I just… I just need to sleep.”

“Sure thing,” said Christine. “Good night.” 

“Night, Vic,” Chelsea said, starting to unbutton her shirt to change into pajamas as Victoire closed the curtains around her bed.

Victoire Weasley closed her eyes. Tried hard to clear her head. 

Yet the thoughts kept bouncing around.

_Christine’s sleeping with Theresa until Sam’s interested.  
_

_Chelsea has this really weird crush on my uncle._

_Everyone thinks your boyfriend’s a jerk._

_You’re casting spells that strike expert wizards and saviors of the free world speechless_.

All of those thoughts kept her awake late. 

But when sleep finally came all she could dream was how close she was to Ted Lupin that night. How much she wished she could have moved those last few inches to know how it really felt to kiss him.

And how she truly hoped she could have another chance. 


	38. Nineteen Years Later, Part I: Patrick the Muggle

  
Author's notes:

Nineteen Years Later begins here, with a little bit of a format change to finish up the series.

I own [these characters](http://kanedax.livejournal.com/206368.html). The others belong to JK Rowling.

* * *

“Lovely day outside, isn’t it?” 

 

“Hmm?” 

 

Ellen Collins turned away from the sink to speak to her husband. “Lovely day,” she repeated, pointing out the lace-draped window with her potato peeler to the sharp blue July sky. “We should go for a walk later.” 

 

“Sounds lovely, dear,” said Patrick Collins, who was currently slaving over the stove, frying eggs and sausages. It was Saturday morning in the Collins household, and familiar sounds and smells wafted through the house. Like most families, the Collins found very little time for the family to sit down together for a meal. Even during the summer, with their daughter, Meghan, on holiday from classes, they still usually found themselves scrounging through leftovers, digging into the bottom of McDonalds bags, or simply saying “forget it, let’s go out for Chinese.” But every Saturday morning, Patrick and Ellen made sure to cook a good, hearty breakfast for the entire family before the usual weekend madness began. 

 

Even if breakfast was usually at ten-thirty or eleven in the morning. Meghan liked to get her beauty sleep, and Patrick and Ellen Collins found it difficult to deny their only child the pleasure of sleeping in while she still had the ability. 

 

“I’m going to go out this afternoon,” said Patrick, a short, middle-aged man with a thick beard and an ever-heightening forehead. “Go to the hardware store.” 

 

“For a new ladder?” 

 

“For a new ladder,” said Patrick, rolling the sausage across the skillet. “Almost killed myself on it last weekend trying to trim the tree.” 

 

“Not a bad idea,” said Ellen. “While you’re out, do you want to price out some door handles, too? The back gate is looking rusty.” 

 

“Of course, dear.” 

 

“Okay, okay, so it wasn’t you,” came a voice from the hall. 

 

Ellen turned to Patrick with a smirk. “Sounds like Meghan’s up.” 

 

Meghan Collins entered the kitchen. At eleven years old, she had acquired her mother’s brown eyes and straight brown hair, and her father’s height. She was consistently one of the shortest in her class. This morning she was still in her summer pajamas, which today consisted of pink boxer shorts and a Hello Kitty t-shirt, holding her mobile phone to her ear with one hand and clutching a small pile of envelopes in the other. 

 

“Post is here,” she said to her parents. 

 

“Good morning to you, too,” said Patrick with a small smile as Meghan set the mail down on the table and sat down, returning to her early morning phone conversation with one of her friends that the elder Collinss had difficulty keeping track of. 

 

“I promise I won’t blame you anymore,” said Meghan, putting her legs up on the chair next to her, still holding an opened letter. “Then, no, I don’t know who sent it. Who do we know that has a stupid sense of humor?” 

 

“Anything good?” Patrick asked as Ellen finished peeling the potatoes and picked up the mail. 

 

“Might have been Kelly,” said Meghan to her mobile phone, taking an apple from the basket in the middle of the table and taking a bite. “She seems the type… Yeah, I know…” 

 

“Nothing much,” said Ellen, flipping through the envelopes. “Adverts. Adverts. Adverts.” 

 

“It’s kind of stupid, really,” said Meghan. “Like I’d actually fall for it, or something. I’m surprised you didn’t get one, seems like something Kelly would send to as many people as possible.” 

 

“Oh, here’s a postcard from Terry and Jill,” Ellen said. 

 

“Where are they again?” asked Patrick. “They go on holiday every summer, and I can never keep track of where.” 

 

“Get this part,” said Meghan, “The list that she came up with is priceless. _A History of Magic_. _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. _Magical Theory_ , by Adalbert Waffling.” 

 

“I guess they’re in Norway this year,” said Ellen, flipping over the postcard to look at the picture on the front. “It’s a picture of one of the fjords.” 

 

“I know, it’s completely stupid,” said Meghan with a sniff. “Like some name made up in a Dr. Seuss book.” 

 

“It’s pretty,” said Ellen. “They seem to be having a good time.” 

 

“Meghan?” 

 

“ _Parents are reminded that first years are not allowed their own broomsticks_ ,” read Meghan, imitating a schoolmistress before breaking into laughter. 

 

“You know, I’ve always wanted to go to Norway,” said Ellen. 

 

“Meghan.” 

 

“The equipment list is even better, though,” said Meghan. “A wand? A cauldron? A toad? Yeah, a _toad_! Like with warts and… Oh, yeah, a cat, too.” 

 

“We should think about that next summer,” said Ellen. “Or maybe during Christmas holiday. I think the three of us could…” 

 

“ _Meghan_.” 

 

“Hang on just a second,” said Meghan, covering the receiver of the small phone with her hand. “Yeah, Dad?” 

 

“Where did you get that?” 

 

“What, this?” Meghan asked, holding up the two pieces of paper. 

 

“Yes,” said Patrick slowly. “That.” 

 

“It was with the rest of the mail this morning,” said Meghan, returning to the phone. “Yeah, Cindy, I… no, it doesn’t say _black_ cat, but it probably should have.” 

 

“Can I have it, please?” 

 

“Heh, yeah,” Meghan giggled. “Bubble bubble, toil and trouble. God, what an immature…” 

 

“ _Meghan_!” 

 

“Dad, what?” Meghan retorted shortly. “It’s just a joke. Someone from school sent it, like I’d actually believe it.” 

 

“Pat, are you alright?” asked Ellen, looking nervously at her husband, who looked far from all right. The hand holding the spatula hung limply by his side, the other hand held out in front of him. His eyes were wide, and his face was pale white behind his blond-brown beard. 

 

“I said, can I have it, please,” Patrick repeated. 

 

“Dad, I…” 

 

“Meghan, give me the letter. _Now_.” 

 

Meghan sighed. “Look, Cindy, I’ll call you back, alright?” 

 

“Patrick, what’s wrong?” Ellen asked as Meghan pushed the disconnect button on her telephone and stood up. 

 

“Thank you,” said Patrick as Meghan handed the letter to her father. 

 

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” she said quietly. “It’s just a prank.” 

 

“That’s right,” said Patrick, as though in a daze, as he read at the letter. “It’s just a prank. Just a prank.” 

 

“Pat, the sausages!” 

 

“What?” Patrick said, pulling his eyes away from the parchment. 

 

“The sausages!” Ellen repeated, jumping up and running to the stove. “They’re burning!” 

 

“Oh,” said Patrick, returning to the letter. 

 

“Oh, God, and the eggs are ruined,” Ellen sighed, taking the spatula from Patrick’s hand and flipping the black-singed eggs. 

 

“Burning,” Patrick muttered, his eyes boring into the letter. 

 

“Dad?” Meghan asked. “Dad, you’re getting kinda scary.” 

 

Patrick looked up at his daughter. “Sorry, love,” he said, forcing a twitch of a smile. “It’s just… Meghan, if you get any more of these letters, I want you to give them to me immediately, do you understand? Don’t open them.” 

 

“Why not?” asked Meghan, looking between her parents in confusion. “I mean… they’re just a prank, right?” 

 

“Yes, they are,” said Patrick. “They’re a very dangerous prank, and… Just do as I say.” 

 

“How can they be dangerous?” asked Meghan. “It’s just a letter.” 

 

“Meghan, I…” Patrick stumbled, searching for words. “Just do as I say.” 

 

“Alright?” she said, looking at her father with downright befuddlement. 

 

“Well, these are ruined,” said Ellen with a sigh, turning off the stove. “We’re out of eggs now. Want to just go to the café, see what kind of seats we can get this time of day?” 

 

“Of course,” said Patrick. “Meghan, go get dressed.” 

 

“Dad, you’re being all weird…” 

 

“Just get dressed,” said Patrick. “And keep giving me any more of these letters and I’ll be fine.” 

 

Meghan stared at her father for a few more moments and then, with a shake of her head, left the kitchen. As Ellen heard the stomping of footsteps going up the stairs to the floor above, she turned to her husband. “Patrick, what is going on?” 

 

“Nothing of importance, dear,” said Patrick, slowly walking towards the stove. 

 

“ _Nothing of importance?_ ” she replied with disbelief. 

 

“That’s right.” 

 

“Pat, it looks like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

 

“You’ll give me any of those letters, as well?” 

 

“Why?” Ellen asked. “Why are they dangerous?” 

 

Patrick didn’t answer; he simply turned the stove back on. 

 

“Patrick?” Ellen repeated. “Why are they dangerous?” 

 

“Anthrax, dear,” Patrick said quietly, staring down into the blue flame of the gas range, letter clutched in his hand. 

 

“Anthrax?” 

 

“I heard about it on the news report,” said Patrick. “They’re saying… that some group is copycatting what happened after the 2001 attacks. Sending out anthrax letters.” 

 

“I don’t remember them saying… That’s… that’s an anthrax letter?” Ellen asked, backing away. “Should we call someone?” 

 

“No,” said Patrick, holding the letter up to his face. “No, this one was just a dud. But just in case…. They… they said that they’re being sent with this seal, this type of ink. Better safe than sorry.” 

 

“I suppose…” Ellen said. “Better safe than sorry. Patrick, are you _sure_ we shouldn’t call someone?” 

 

“Absolutely sure,” he said, touching the corner of the letters to the flame and tossing it into the skillet with the sausages, watching them, along with the envelope and its wax seal, burn to black ashes. 

 

\---------

 

The Collins received three more letters by the end of July. Three more the week after that. Five more the week after _that_ , and five more in the weeks that followed. 

 

With each letter, Ellen Collins grew more and more agitated. “Patrick,” she said on more than one occasion. “Are you _sure_ we shouldn’t call someone? The police? The hospital?” 

 

“I'm sure,” said Patrick, tossing the unopened letter into the fireplace.  "Don't worry about it, love." 

 

Ellen still hadn’t heard the BBC mention any terrorist copycats since Patrick told her about the report. This worried her. It seemed like something that would be of vital importance to repeat to the community on a daily basis, at least until those responsible were brought to justice.  Unless...

 

It was almost like Patrick had made the story up. That, combined with the almost eerie calm that he carried with him ever since the first letter arrived, made her even more nervous about this situation. Like he wasn’t telling her something. 

 

Like there was more to those letters than he was letting on. 

 

At last, the summer was nearly to a close. With the exception of the letters, for which Patrick still refused to take any action, things went on as normal. On the last Wednesday of August, Patrick took the day off from his job at the bank, and the Collinss drove into Wick for their traditional before-school shopping trip, buying new clothes and supplies for Meghan’s final year of primary school. Patrick, with great reservation, even opened up his pockets and allowed his daughter to buy her first pair of heels. Heels that, he muttered to his wife, looked like something that no eleven-year-old should ever own. 

 

“You know I spoil you,” he said to his daughter as he gave his charge card to the cashier. 

 

“I love you, too, Daddy,” said Meghan, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. 

 

Patrick didn’t feel quite so disgruntled after that. 

 

After they returned home, though, their attention was drawn back to the mysterious letters with a ring of the doorbell. 

  

 Meghan, who was in the sitting room watching television when the bell rang, was the one who answered.  On their doorstep stood two men, silhouetted against the orange and yellow early evening sky.  The man in front, the shorter of the two, was brown-haired with a rumpled suit.  He was well-built, but his round face, which despite the scars lining his cheeks and brow appeared pleasant, showed hints that he had lost more than a bit of baby fat in the past few years. 

  

Behind him stood a tall, black man in sunglasses, his dark hair cut short and his goatee neatly trimmed.  His suit seemed to match his demeanor: gray with a plain red tie, it appeared to be tailor-made and, to Meghan's eyes, very expensive. 

  

 "Miss Collins?" the shorter man asked. 

  

"Yeah?" 

  

"Are your parents at home?" 

  

"Yeah, just a second," Meghan replied, turning around.  "Mum!  Someone's at the door!" 

  

 "Who is it, dear?" Ellen called from the kitchen. 

  

"Someone asking for you," Meghan said, walking away from the door.  "I think they're Jehovah's Witnesses." 

  

 "Jenovah's what?" the short man asked as the screen door swung shut with a clatter. 

  

"Don't worry about it," said the taller man with a smirk as it swung open again.  "I'll explain later.  Maybe.  Not important." 

  

 "Good evening," said Ellen, leaning against the doorframe. 

  

"Good evening," said the shorter man.  "If I may introduce..." 

  

"Before you begin," said Ellen, raising her hand to silence the man, "I should say that our family is very strong in our faith.  We attend church regularly, and, while we respect other beliefs, we currently are very comfortable and do not wish to change our denomination at this time." 

  

 The tall man's eyebrows raised behind his sunglasses.  "Good answer," he said to the short man.  "My mum usually just slammed the door." 

  

"Denomin..." the short man muttered, looking back and forth between Ellen and the tall man.  "Oh...  oh!  No, you misunderstand me, Mrs. Collins.  We don't represent a church, no.”

 

“You don’t…”

 

“Actually, we represent a school,” he continued.  “We're here to discuss your daughter's scholastic future, and wish to offer Meghan the opportunity to attend a very special, very exclusive school for someone with her unique talents and abilities." 

  

“Unique talents?” Ellen asked with an arched eyebrow. “Like what? I love my daughter like no one else, but it’s no secret that her grades are average at best.”

 

“If you could just give us a few moments of your time…”

 

“Who is it, Ellen?”

 

“Mr. Collins?”

 

“That’s right,” said Patrick, standing next to his wife. “What is this all about?”

 

“They’re from a school,” said Ellen. “They say that they’re…”

 

“Meghan’s finishing her primary schooling this year,” said Patrick to the two men, “and will be going to Thurso High School next fall. We’re not interested in talking about other schools.”

 

“Are you sure, Pat?” asked Ellen. “If they’re seeing something in her that the other schools haven’t…”

 

“We’re not interested,” Patrick repeated.

 

“Have you received any of the letters we’ve sent?”

 

Ellen stopped in mid-word and turned to the pair of men at the door. “Excuse me?”

 

“The letters,” said the short man. “We’ve attempted to contact you numerous times in the last month regarding your daughter.”

 

“I said we’re not interested,” Patrick said, even more firmly this time.

 

“The… the letters?” Ellen stumbled, looking around the three men. “The… Patrick, the _anthrax_ letters?”

 

“What’s anthrax?” asked the short man.

 

“Oh, Lord,” the tall man said with a shake of the head. “ _That’s_ the excuse he used?”

 

“Patrick, what is going on?”

 

“Mrs. Collins,” the short man said, regaining his composure, “if we could just have a few minutes of your time…”

 

“Now you listen here,” said Patrick, stepping out onto the front stoop and facing the short man, who was still a good four or five inches taller than he. “I told you, Meghan is _not interested_ in your school.”

 

“So Meghan is fully aware of the school, then?” asked the tall man. “Fully aware of what we’re offering her? And she still wishes to turn it down?”

 

“She doesn’t know, and she won’t…”

 

“Patrick, _what are they talking about?_ ”

 

“Mrs. Collins,” said the tall man, remaining calm. “When Meghan was eight, she wanted nothing more in the world for Christmas than a toy horse. She took that package from beneath the tree for weeks on end, shook it, wished every day that that’s what it contained.”

 

“I’m warning you…” Patrick said flatly.

 

“Patrick, be quiet,” Ellen breathed.

 

“On Christmas Day,” the man continued, “she opened it, and there it was: the toy horse she had been dreaming of.”

 

Now Ellen was standing in the doorway, her mouth agape.

 

“You never bought her that toy, did you, Mrs. Collins?” he asked. “And did you ever find out what happened to that sweater that you had wrapped in that very box? The sweater that magically disappeared?”

 

Ellen fell back against the doorframe, but now it was because she didn’t have the strength to stand. “How did you…?”

 

“When I say your daughter has unique talents,” said the shorter man, “I mean it. Now, may we have a few moments of your time?”

 

\---------

 

“I’m a what?”

 

“You’re a witch,” said the shorter, more pleasant man, who had introduced himself as Neville Longbottom. He was a professor at Hogwarts, the school they were now promoting to the Collins's’ only daughter. Dean Thomas, who Neville introduced as an official from a branch of the government that Ellen had never heard of, stood behind Professor Longbottom. He didn’t speak a word after the two entered the house, only idly looked around the sitting room as Longbottom gave his presentation, which had included more than a few displays to prove that, yes, magic is real.

 

“A witch,” Meghan whispered, tasting the words in her mouth as she kneeled in front of the coffee table, the weasel that had once been the remote control curiously sniffing the drink coasters.

 

“Not a very nice thing to say about a person, is it?” asked Ellen, glancing uncomfortably at her husband, who had remained silent and withdrawn throughout the passing minutes.

 

“Oh, I know,” Neville sighed. “Muggle propaganda, I’m afraid. You can call a Muggle man a _wizard_ and it says that they’re skilled and talented and smart. But call a woman a _witch_ , and… Well, in our world, it’s not derogatory.”

 

“What’s a Muggle?” asked Ellen.

 

“An unmagical person,” said Neville.

 

“I always thought there was something,” Meghan breathed. “It’s like I always felt…”

 

“Different?” asked Neville with a smile.

 

“Yeah,” said Meghan, returning his grin. “A witch. Wow. I always thought I was a mutant.”

 

“Excuse me?” Neville asked as Dean Thomas burst into laughter, the first noise that had come out of his mouth since entering the house.

 

“You know, a mutant,” Meghan said. “Like in that old Hugh Jackman movie that’s on television all the time.”

 

“Wow,” said Dean, trying to put down his chuckle. “You know, I’ve been living in the wizard world for over twenty five years, and that’s the first time I’ve ever thought of comparing it to the X-Men. Fits, though.”

 

“So what do you think, Meghan?” Neville asked. “Are you interested in attending Hogwarts? Pursuing your skills? Becoming a witch?”

 

“That would be really cool,” said Meghan. “What do you think, Mum?”

 

“I… I don’t know,” Ellen said. “I mean, it’s certainly a lot to take in… When do you say classes start again?”

 

“September first,” said Neville. “Which I know is in, oh, dear, two days? But, in all honesty, we had assumed we would be hearing back from Meghan sooner…”

 

“We thought the letters were a joke,” Meghan admitted.

 

“…But if she says yes,” Neville continued, “we can make arrangements for her. You all can meet with a Hogwarts representative tomorrow who will assist you with purchasing supplies and can also help with any packing of Meghan’s things. It can be myself, if you wish, or we have many other qualified professors who would be happy to help. And any money that you’ve put towards her Muggle schooling will be reimbursed and put towards her Hogwarts materials.”

 

“How about tuition?” asked Ellen.

 

“None beyond the need to purchase supplies,” said Neville. “The Ministry of Magic sees training and educating new witches and wizards as one of their top priorities. All Hogwarts students get a free ride.”

 

“Ministry of Magic…” Meghan said with quiet wonder.

 

“So, what do you think?” asked Neville. “I would normally say that you have a few days to mull it over, but time is of the essence in this case, I’m afraid.”

 

“Can I, Mum?” Meghan said, spinning around.

 

“But what about your friends?” asked Ellen. “Won’t you…?”

 

“I can keep in touch with them,” she insisted.

 

“She won’t be the only new student, either,” said Neville. “We’re expecting a nearly full class of first years this year. She’ll have plenty of opportunities to make new friends.”

 

“And besides, I’m a _witch_! Isn’t that cool?”

 

“No,” said Patrick.

 

It felt as though the air was let out of the room as Meghan turned to her father. “Daddy?”

 

“I said no,” Patrick repeated. “She’s not going.”

 

“But, Daddy…”

 

“You’re not going,” he said, more firmly this time. “You have no idea how dangerous these people are.”

 

“Well, neither do you?” said Ellen. “Do you? I mean… Patrick, how much do you know about this?”

 

“This isn’t up for debate,” said Patrick, standing up and facing Neville. “I’ve sat here and let you spew your tripe. Just like a good little boy. And now I’m saying no.”

 

“Mr. Collins…”

 

“And now I want you out of my house.”

 

“Mrs. Collins,” said Dean quietly, his back to the group, looking at a collection of family pictures. “Meghan. Could we have a moment alone with Patrick, please?”

 

“Why?” asked Ellen, suddenly worried.

 

“We just need to have a talk with him.”

 

“You’re not going to…?”

 

“Of course we won’t,” said Neville with a smile.

 

“Just a few minutes,” Dean said. “If you need assurances, I can give you my wand.”

 

Ellen and Meghan looked around the room, at Dean Thomas’s calm study of the photographs, Neville Longbottom’s comforting gaze, and Patrick Collins’s…

 

_Lord, I’ve never seen him like this before,_ Ellen thought.  _So angry._

 

“Patrick?”

 

“Give us a few minutes, love,” Patrick said, his eyes never leaving Mr. Thomas’s back.

 

“If… if you say so,” said Ellen. “Come on, Meghan.”

 

“But, Mum…”

 

“Listen to your mother, Meghan,” said Patrick. Meghan Collins hesitated, then allowed her mother to escort her into the kitchen, where they closed the door behind them.

 

Dean turned for the first time, looking flatly at the closed door. “Neville?”

 

“On it,” said Neville, pointing his wand at the door.

 

“What did you do to them?” asked Patrick.

 

“We didn’t do anything to them,” said Neville, standing up. “I just cast an Imperturbable Charm on the door. For you more than for us.”

 

“What are you…?”

 

“ _Collins_ ,” said Dean, looking back at the pictures. “It’s a nice name you picked for yourself, Patrick. Fitting. Chose it as soon as you turned eighteen, right? As soon as you could get away from your parents and find a shady character that could make you a false identity? Moved as far away from London as possible without having to cross borders?”

 

“I…” Patrick stammered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Of course you do,” said Dean. “You know exactly what we’re talking about. We know who you really are, Mr. Collins, just like you know that this isn’t the first time the three of us have met.”

 

“But don’t worry,” said Neville. “You want to keep your identity secret. That’s fine. It was your choice, and we’ll respect that. But this isn’t about you. It’s about your daughter.”

 

“I told you,” Patrick said, “Meghan’s not going to that school.”

 

“And if that’s your ultimate decision, then we’ll respect that, as well,” said Dean. “But not before you know the full extent of your options. Of _her_ options.”

 

“I know my options,” said Patrick. “She goes to that slaughterhouse or she doesn’t. End of story.”

 

“No, that’s not true,” said Dean. “Patrick, your daughter is a witch. A powerful witch. The things that she’s already done without training…”

 

“What are you talking about?” said Patrick. “So she made a sweater turn into a horse. I did more.”

 

“This is your second house in the last few years, isn’t it?”

 

“It is,” said Patrick.

 

“What happened to the last house?”

 

“It…” Patrick trailed off.

 

“What happened to your last house?”

 

“It burned down,” Patrick said quietly. “But it was an electrical fire. In the basement.”

 

“That’s what you were told?” asked Dean.

 

“Of course that’s what I was told,” said Patrick. “It’s what happened!”

 

“Then why were you able to rescue your daughter from her burning bedroom before the lower half of the house had even caught?”

 

“How… how did you know?”

 

“The Muggle Liaison Department has been tracking you, Patrick,” said Dean. “Every witch and wizard who goes Muggle has the same thing happen to them. To make sure that they don’t let out about our identity, and to step in when it does happen. Our surveillance has gotten very sophisticated in the last few years.”

 

“But…”

 

“Also, your daughter was born a witch,” Neville continued. “So she had the Trace placed on her as soon as she was born.”

 

“Your daughter caused that fire,” said Dean.  “Had a nightmare, and started the fire while she was asleep. We modified the memory of the investigators so that that information wouldn’t slip. Let them think it was an electrical fire.”

 

“That’s impossible…”

 

“And your neighbor, before the fire,” Dean continued. “How their dog mysteriously died?”

 

“Torn in half…” Patrick said, falling into one of the cushioned chairs. “Police said…”

 

“Animal attack, right,” said Dean. “What else would they say? They didn’t know that that dog had taken a vicious bite out of your nine-year-old Meghan’s arm minutes before. She probably didn’t even know she did it until after it happened. When we’re young we have very little control over what magic comes out of us.”

 

“But she wasn’t bitten!” said Patrick. “She never…”

 

“She’s an extremely talented, extremely powerful witch,” said Neville. “She transfigured a sweater into a toy horse without even knowing the sweater existed. She set fire to her room while most witches her age wouldn’t be able to do more than _Incendio_ a napkin. She healed a horrible wound faster than a highly-qualified Healer and tore apart the attacking dog without blinking.”

 

“That’s why you need to listen to us, Mr. Collins,” said Dean. “The Ministry has had an eye on your daughter for quite some time. The Muggle Liaison Department has been keeping tabs on you, but has also been filing reports to the Aurors about her. Power like hers… Short of Dumbledore and Voldemort…”

 

“ _Don’t say that name!_ ” Patrick cried out.

 

“Patrick,” Neville said slowly. “Our world… Our world isn’t like it was back then. It’s not like it was when the Death Eaters were running the Ministry and Snape and the Carrows were running Hogwarts. Voldemort is dead, plain and simple. The danger’s passed.”

 

“Why should I believe you?” Patrick snarled. “It wasn’t safe when…”

 

“That’s because we happened to be at Hogwarts in a historically turbulent time,” said Neville. “There was a war going on, even before Vol… even before You-Know-Who returned to power. That war’s done. It ended nineteen years ago. Hogwarts is stable, the Ministry’s stable. There’s peace now. There’s… there’s happiness again. Things are right again, Patrick. Your daughter can come to Hogwarts without being afraid.”

 

“If she attends Hogwarts,” said Dean, “she can be trained. Like I said, her power is… well, it’s possible she’s peaking early. But if she’s not…”

 

“I can still say no,” said Patrick. “I don’t trust...”

 

“Then you say no,” said Dean with a shrug. “And we have an untrained, unpredictable half-blood on our hands. And Meghan’s situation gets handed up to higher authorities than myself.”

 

“Are you threatening…?” Patrick said, standing up again. “Are you saying you’ll do something to my daughter?”

 

“Not threatening, no,” said Dean. “But you must remember that the Ministry is a government body. They have laws for witches and wizards, and it doesn’t matter if that witch or wizard doesn’t recognize their authority. And having a witch like Meghan, who will only get more powerful as she grows older, out in Muggle public… Well, in all honesty, it puts the Statute of Secrecy in serious jeopardy, not to mention the danger to the Muggles themselves.

 

“I was sent with Neville because I’m a member of the Muggle Liaison Department,” he continued. “I'm in it, along with some other people you may remember from Hogwarts.  We handle communications between the Ministry and the Muggle governments, but we also monitor and clean up messes made by wizards around Muggles. We’re the soft hand. If Meghan or her family decline training, then we have no choice but to bring in the hard hand: the Aurors.”

 

“But there are plenty of witches and wizards who never attended Hogwarts…”

 

“Most Muggleborns say _yes_ when asked to attend,” said Neville. “Those who decline… well, they’re Muggleborns. We keep an eye on them, but their natural abilities only reach a certain height without the proper training and equipment. But half-bloods and purebloods who don’t go to Hogwarts or Beauxbatons or wherever are usually trained by their parents, who are themselves witches and wizards.”

 

“But this is a unique case,” said Dean. “A witch of this power, being raised by a Muggle and by a wizard who left school early, who broke his wand, who doesn’t _want_ to be a wizard... It can only spell trouble for everyone.”

 

“So what do you propose would happen?” asked Patrick. “If we say no?”

 

“As I said, the Aurors will step in. What they do, I couldn’t say. Memory modification, most likely, for you, Ellen, or Meghan. Possible prison time for you, if you knowingly allow your daughter to continue to live around Muggles. Removing custody of your daughter and placing her into a foster home in the wizarding community.”

 

“You wouldn’t…”

 

“I don’t want it,” Dean said softly. “No one wants it. That’s why I’m here and not Seamus. He’s an Auror now, you know. Damn good one, too.”

 

“That’s why you should say yes to Hogwarts,” said Neville, nearly pleading. “It’s the best option for everyone. She’ll learn how to be a proper witch. She’ll be pursuing a better life than she will in her high school with her average grades. Better job prospects, a much better economy.  She'll meet new friends.  And, most importantly, she’ll be happy. You heard her. I only talked to her for a half hour, and she _wants this_. She knows she’s special, she knows she has potential.”

 

“I didn’t want to say it, Pat,” said Dean Thomas, “but it’s what the old you would want. And it’s what Colin would want for his niece.”

 

Patrick lowered his head in resignation. He sat silently, his eyes closed, as the minutes ticked by and the sun finally set outside. Neville glanced nervously at the kitchen door, wondering just how the two other Collins were doing. If they were growing worried about their father and husband.

 

Dean continued to stare calmly at the man in the chair, who had grown _so old_ … So unlike the little boy in Hagrid’s giant jacket…

 

“Fine, I give,” the wizard formerly known as Dennis Creevey sighed, looking back up at his former classmates, his former comrades in Dumbledore’s Army. “Where do I sign?”


	39. Nineteen Years Later, Part II: Andromeda's Proposal

  
Author's notes: Sorry about the delay in getting the rest of these next few chapters posted  


* * *

Andromeda Tonks heard the thumping from the other room as she poured her morning tea. The heavy footsteps approached the small kitchen.

 

[](http://astele.co.uk/TheQuidditchPitch/Chapter/Details/8868#_msocom_1)“Morning, Gran!” 

 

“Good morning,” she replied. “You’re up earlier than I expected.” 

 

“Why do you say that?” asked Teddy Lupin, Andromeda’s grandson. 

 

“Well, you were out when I went to bed,” she said with a shrug, walking to the kitchen table with her tea and flipping the page of the _Daily Prophet_. “And I didn’t hear you come in. I assumed you’d want to sleep in this morning.” 

 

“I wasn’t out _that_ late,” said Teddy defensively. “Just a few drinks with Gavin and Jenn. I was in by midnight. It was a Thursday night, after all; they had to work this morning.” 

 

“Don’t think I’m complaining, dear,” said Andromeda. “I do appreciate the company.” 

 

“I know,” said Teddy, pouring himself his own cup and grabbing a banana from the hanging basket. “I’m not here for too long, anyway.” 

 

“Oh, really?” asked Andromeda. 

 

“Damn, did I forget to tell you?” Teddy asked. “I’m helping Vic get her stuff to King’s Cross this morning.” 

 

“No, you didn’t tell me that,” said Andromeda. 

 

“Sorry,” said Teddy. “The four of them were in France over the weekend for Gabrielle’s wedding. The other three are staying the week, but Vic had to come back for classes. Obviously.” 

 

“Hm,” said Andromeda. “Obviously. Gabrielle’s getting married, is she?” 

 

“ _Got_ married, yeah,” said Teddy between bites of banana. “Some French bloke who works in finance in Tours.” 

 

“The Delacour girls have a thing for bankers, I guess,” she said with a small smile. “I’m amazed it took her so long to find someone. How old is she again?” 

 

“Thirty?” Teddy thought aloud. “Thirty-one? Something like that. You know I’m bad with ages.” 

 

“She’s such a pretty girl,” said Andromeda. “It’s amazing to me that no one swept her up sooner.” 

 

“Way I figure it, no one swept her up sooner because she _is_ such a pretty girl,” said Teddy. “She could afford to be choosy because she knew that they were lining around the block for her.” 

 

“I suppose that’s another way of looking at it,” said Andromeda. “So when are you leaving?” 

 

“In a few minutes,” said Teddy, tapping the banana peel with his wand and making it vanish into thin air. “Vic’s been home alone for the past few days packing, but she wants to make sure she’s not missing anything. I’m her second pair of eyes.” 

 

“Train leaves at eleven?” 

 

“As always.” 

 

“Will you be home tonight?” she continued. “Or do you have rehearsal?” 

 

“Nah,” he said. “I’m off tonight. They’re working Jake and Diane’s scenes.” 

 

“I’m having the Grangers over for dinner,” said Andromeda. “Will you be home before seven? I’m making a roast.” 

 

Teddy’s face turned red. His hair turned green. “You are?” 

 

“Nothing too complicated,” said Andromeda. “But they haven’t been over in a while. I thought it might be nice.” 

 

“Oh,” said Teddy quietly. “Actually, I… I think I’m at Harry’s tonight.” 

 

“Are you sure?” said Andromeda, sitting up. 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“And this is something you had planned in advance?” she asked. “And not something you made up right now?” 

 

“No, it…” Teddy sighed. “Might have been made up right now.” 

 

“Because you know it’s just going to be Charlotte and Dan,” Andromeda continued. 

 

“I know.” 

 

“No Caroline. She’s back at Bristol.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

“But you’re still going to be at the Potters?” 

 

Ted paused, running his finger absently around the edge of his teacup. “Probably, yeah.” 

 

Andromeda sighed and, standing up, walked back to the stove. “Alright then,” she said quietly. 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

“Don’t be,” she said. “You should get going. Victoire will…” 

 

“No, Gran,” Teddy said, standing up. “I mean it. I’m sorry about all of this. About everything.” 

 

“Teddy, you don’t have to be…” 

 

“But I am,” said Teddy, standing beside her. “I’m sorry you have to get caught in this whole mess with me and Hermione. It’s stupid, I know, it’s been a year and a half and I’m still all… I just don’t know how comfortable I am around her parents yet. Old memories, I guess. And I’m sorry that you have to be the one to pay for it.” 

 

“I know,” said Andromeda, looking up at her grandson. “And I understand. Dan and Charlotte have been saying as much from their end, that Caroline feels the same way around me, so I know I’m not the only one in the crossfire.” 

 

Teddy sighed and shook his head. “I guess this will teach me never to date family friends. Makes the end harder on everyone involved.” 

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Andromeda. “It’s… There are complications in every breakup, Teddy.” 

 

“Yeah,” said Teddy, putting his hand on his grandmother’s back. “Look… It’s probably for the best that I’m not around at dinner tonight, anyway. You three have fun. Pretend that your grandson and their daughter aren’t currently on bad terms. Just… Just enjoy yourself, okay? No drama.” 

 

Andromeda chuckled reluctantly. “No drama would be a good thing for a night.” 

 

“Exactly,” said Teddy. “But, you’re right, I probably should get going. Vic’s waiting for me.” 

 

“You know,” Andromeda said slowly as Teddy turned to leave. “Victoire is single.” 

 

Teddy stopped and turned around. “That she is.” 

 

“And she’s pretty, too,” Andromeda continued, “and very sweet, and you two have always gotten along so well…” 

 

“Yeah,” said Teddy with a shy smile. “I know.” 

 

“I’m not saying…” Andromeda said, shaking her head. “All I’m saying is that you might think about moving on from Caroline. From Hermione. See some other people, Teddy.” 

 

“I know I should,” said Teddy. 

 

“And Victoire seems like someone who would be interested…” 

 

“Probably,” said Teddy with a sigh, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s just…” 

 

“I’m sorry, dear,” said Andromeda. “But it’s been a year and a half. I hate to see you like this. I just think finding someone else is healthy, even though I’m just playing a prying grandmother.” 

 

“You’re not,” said Teddy. “Not at all. I appreciate it. Really, I do. But… I don’t know. It would be odd, I guess. She is kind of cute, in a way, but…” 

 

“She’s not Hermione,” Andromeda finished. 

 

“It’s not even that,” said Teddy. “Like I said, maybe it might not be a good idea for me to date friends of the family.” 

 

Andromeda sighed. “I’m sure Lily appreciates your noble stance, and is relieved to know you won’t be making any advances.” 

 

Teddy laughed sadly. “I’m sorry, Gran,” he said. “I’m trying my best. I really am. But it’s just hard to get back into it, you know?” 

 

“I know,” said Andromeda. “I just hope you can someday. You’re such a wonderful boy. You deserve to be with someone.” 

 

“Thanks,” said Teddy with a small smile. “And I will get back into it again. Just… not now.” 

 

“Of course you will.” 

 

Teddy checked his watch. “Alright, so I should really get going. Look, I should be back by noon or one. How’s lunch sound?” 

 

Andromeda smiled. “I’ll have sandwiches ready.” 

 

“Excellent,” said Teddy. “Be back in a bit.” 

 

Andromeda Tonks sat back down as Teddy left the kitchen. But before she could even start reading the next paragraph of her article there was a knock at the door. 

 

“I’ll get it, Gran!” Teddy called from the sitting room. 

 

“Thank you, dear,” Andromeda called back. 

 

Andromeda heard the mumbling noise of two male voices from the other front of the house, but couldn't make out any of the words, or who it was that Teddy was speaking to.  After about a minute he heard Teddy say, loudly and clearly, "Shell Cottage!" and the distinct _floomph_ of the house's Floo, sending him across the island to Bill and Fleur Weasley's house on the sea. 

  

"Good morning, Andromeda." 

  

Andromeda leapt to her feet as a tall, imposing wizard entered the kitchen.  He was impeccably dressed in emerald robes and a small brimless cap, his steel gray eyes looking through pince-nez glasses. 

  

"Tiberius!" she cried out, trying her best to smooth out any wrinkles in her morning robe. 

  

"I'm sorry, dear," said Tiberius Ogden, his mouth, which was framed by a long gray mustache (a _fu manchu_ , Teddy called it, a Muggle phrase which Andromeda assumed he had learned from either Caroline or Edmund), breaking into a small smile.  "Ted said that I could come in.  But if I'm intruding, I could certainly return at another time." 

  

"Oh," said Andromeda, quickly gaining her composure.  "No, Tiberius, that's fine.  I just...  You were the last person I would have expected, especially this morning." 

  

"I understand," Ogden replied.  "You don't mind if I take a seat, do you?" 

  

"No, of course not," said Andromeda as Tiberius pulled back one of the chairs and sat down.  "What are you doing here?  Aren't you supposed to be at Hogwarts?" 

  

"In a few hours," said the headmaster, who looked quite out of place at the small kitchen table.  "The Hogwarts Express doesn't even leave the station for another two hours, and doesn't arrive at Hogsmeade until about six or seven.  I'm only a short Apparition away in the meantime." 

  

"So you're making social calls, then?" asked Andromeda with an arched eyebrow.  "Seeing all of your old friends again before you get locked up for another ten months?" 

  

"I suppose you could say that," said Tiberius with a chuckle.  "Attending to some business, as well.  Before I'm, as you say, 'locked up.'" 

  

"So am I friend or business?" 

  

"Perhaps a bit of both," said Tiberius.  "But how are you doing?  We haven't spoken in so long..." 

  

 "I'm surviving," said Andromeda.  "Can't complain too badly.  Would you like some tea?" 

  

"That would be lovely, thank you," said Tiberius as Andromeda stood and walked to the stove.  And financially?  Holding up?" 

  

"Well, I'm not left wanting," said Andromeda.  "Teddy's been paid for through the Auror's pension for Nymphadora, as well as the benefits Dumbledore assigned for Remus as a former professor.”

 

“And yourself?”

 

“You know I’ve been fine,” said Andromeda quietly as she set the teapot down. “The Ministry’s been very good for families who… you know…”

 

“Of course,” said Ogden solemnly.

 

“It was good of Kingsley to do it,” she continued. “To recognize that not everyone who died during the war died during the Battle of Hogwarts.  I was able to afford this house,” she said, motioning around the kitchen.  It’s not much, but it’s as much as we need.  After Ted and Nyphadora died, I just couldn’t stay where I was.”

 

“I know you don’t need me to say it,” said Ogden, “but Ted was a good man. One of the best in our year, and I considered him a friend.”

 

“Yes, he was,” said Andromeda with a sigh. “But that was a long time ago. I’ve moved on. Mostly. When I have a grandson who shares his name, he’s always somewhere in my mind.”

 

“I would be surprised if he wasn’t,” said Tiberius. “And how is Mr. Lupin?”

 

“He’s just fine,” said Andromeda, bringing the two cups of tea back to the table with some biscuits. “Doing a play in London, actually. I barely see him except for the occasional breakfast or dinner. He’s a man now. We’re running on different schedules, and he’s trying to make a name for himself while still keeping in touch with his grandmother and his godparents. But, you know how men are when they’re ready to move into the real world. This place becomes less a home and more of a boarding house.”

 

“Leaving you with more free time on your hands than ever,” Tiberius said with a nod.

 

“Well, that’s the way it’s been for years now,” said Andromeda. “He’s my grandson, and I tried to raise him as well as I raised Nymphadora. But he’s been in a unique situation his entire life. He was born in hiding, his parents died before he had his first tooth. He spent most of his childhood living both here and with Harry. He was raised as a wizard, but his best friend has always been… well, until two years ago his best friend was always a Muggle. He’s had two homes, two worlds, and so he’s only been here… not that often. Even before he started at Hogwarts I would have nights where I’d be practically begging my girlfriends to come over for some cards or a nice quiet chat.”

 

Tiberius cracked a small smile. “Then I think you might be interested in the business part of my visit.”

 

“It depends on what you’re going to offer…”

 

“I’ve come to reiterate the offer I made to you, what was it, thirteen, fourteen years ago?”

 

“Is that so?” asked Andromeda, taking a sip of tea.

 

“It is so,” said Ogden.

 

“And you’re reiterating the offer to me when the new term starts in less than twenty-four hours?” Andromeda snorted. “Tibby, you’re insane.”

 

Ogden’s eyes widened in surprise. “Do you know how long it’s been since anyone’s called me by that name?”

 

“Couldn’t tell you,” said Andromeda innocently. “I thought I was the only one who did.”

 

“Anyway,” said Tiberius, forcing his way back to the subject, “no, not for this term. But I’ve been notified by both Professor Alkahest and Professor Squall that they will be retiring following this school year.”

 

“When did you get these notifications?”

 

“About two weeks ago,” he said. “Albert’s back is becoming such a bother that he can barely stand anymore, and Calamus’s numerous aches and pains from his years as an Auror are starting to pile up on him.”

 

“Seems sort of short notice to be making these resignations, don’t you think?”

 

“Not at all,” said Ogden. “Considering how many times Albus found himself desperately searching for Defense professors with only a month or two to spare, I think two weeks followed by a year of weekends gives me ample time to find qualified candidates.”

 

“So you’ve been looking for two weeks,” said Andromeda, “and you just _now_ think of speaking to me?”

 

“I’ve been spending the last few weeks looking for Defense candidates,” said Tiberius. “I spoke with the Minister and with the Aurors to see if they could suggest anyone, and I’ve interviewed a few people. But for Potions… well, you’re the top of my list, quite honestly.”

 

“And what makes you think my answer will be any different than it was before?”

 

“Because your situation has changed,” he said, leaning forward on the table. “You said it yourself, Andromeda. Your grandson’s on his way out. You’ve been bored to tears. Why not come and do something worthwhile in your golden years?”

 

“For one thing,” Andromeda countered, “I haven’t mixed any potion besides household brews in decades…”

 

“That doesn’t matter,” said Ogden with a shrug. “The way I see it, you were always the best in Potions when we were at Hogwarts. It’s like climbing back on a broom, especially since you’ll have the textbook to cheat off.”

 

“And my age?” said Andromeda. “You were going with a youth movement when you took over for Minerva. I’m sixty-four, Tiberius. You’re asking me to replace two retiring professors, but I’m no spring chicken myself.”

 

“You’re not young,” he said. “None of us are. But you’re healthy; you don’t have any more pain than the rest of us old farts. I’m two years older than you, and I think I have another forty years ahead of me. If the governors don’t give me the boot first, of course.”

 

“I don’t know, Tiberius,” said Andromeda slowly, playing with her teacup. “It’s tempting but… I’ve never taught before.”

 

“You taught Teddy and you taught Nymphadora, and they both did quite well for themselves. And, besides, if you say yes, you’ll be given the opportunity to sit in on some of Albert’s lessons this year, and he could help you devise a curriculum, just like Sprout and Flitwick did for Longbottom and Bosh.”

 

Andromeda sighed. “I don’t know…”

 

“It might be a benefit or not,” he added, “but if you say yes, there’s probably a Head of House in it for you.”

 

“That’s not necessarily a benefit,” she said flatly.

 

“Sinestra can’t take the post because she’s the Astronomy teacher,” Ogden argued. “Her hours run completely different than the rest of the school, so she can’t patrol. And her students have difficulty enough staying awake for her lessons, I don’t think her House would be that alert when she gives them announcements.”

 

“And you can’t take any of the other professors…”

 

“Because they’re not primary lessons,” said Ogden. “A Head of House has to be teaching their students every year until O.W.L.s. That leaves out Vector and Skryer. So unless I bring in a Slytherin for Defense, and you’d be amazed how difficult it still is to find a Slytherin comfortable in teaching _Defense_ Against the Dark Arts…”

 

“It leaves me,” Andromeda muttered.

 

“Or an outsider,” said Ogden with a shrug. “I could always try to find someone educated at another school, or home schooled. There’s no Hogwarts law against hiring from out of the country, and they could be Head of any House I choose, since they would never have been a Hogwarts student. I’d just rather see you in the Slytherin Head so I don’t have to limit myself in the Defense candidates.”

 

“But you know I hate being known as a Slytherin,” said Andromeda. “And I’m about as opposite of a Slytherin as one can get. I was just put in the house because I’m a Black. I’m not exactly qualified.”

 

“Actually, I think that makes you more than qualified,” said Tiberius. “Not all Slytherin Heads have to be Phinneas Nigelus, Andromeda. Horace was a gem of a man, even if he was a little egotistical. And Albert was extremely fair, treated every student equally. A rare gift for any Head.”

 

“I just don’t know how much respect I’d get…”

 

“You’d be amazed at how quickly your students will fall in line once they know you’re in charge of giving them grades and House Points and, most importantly, detentions and suspensions. Quite frankly, I think it would do some of the students good to have a blood traitor holding their futures in her hands.”

 

“I never liked that phrase, either,” said Andromeda quietly. “I heard it enough from my family when I married Ted, thank you very much.”

 

“I apologize,” said Ogden. “And I’ll be frank: you’ll probably hear it for a while when you first come back to Hogwarts. Not everyone is past pure-blood mania yet. But they’ll come around. They always do.”

 

Andromeda sighed and picked up a biscuit. “So I assume you already have your Gryffindor Head?”

 

“Oh, Longbottom, of course,” said Ogden. “Couldn’t come soon enough, if you ask me. Having the owner of the Sword of Gryffindor, the boy who used it to lop off the head of Voldemort’s snake, on staff for fifteen years without being the Head of Godric’s House… Well, it’s been a little shameful, to be honest.”

 

“Rules are rules, I suppose.”

 

“Rules are rules,” Ogden agreed. “Squall replaced Carrow the same year that Minerva moved up from Transfiguration to become headmistress. Since Calamus was the only other Gryffindor on hand before Neville was hired, he got the position, and I didn’t want to ask him to leave it until he chose to step down himself. He’s a man of honor, and it would have been dishonorable to force that upon him.”

 

“You did the right thing,” said Andromeda. “Neville was young when Minerva hired him. He wasn’t ready to take the House then.”

 

“Exactly,” said Tiberius. “But he’s almost forty himself, amazingly enough. I think it’s time. So, Andromeda,” he leaned forward again, “what do you think?”

 

“I think,” Andromeda said carefully, “that I have some thinking to do. And I think that I have a grandson who I want to bounce the idea off of first.”

 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Ogden. “That’s why I’m trying to get this to you now instead of next summer. Give you some time to mull it over, maybe come to the school and take a look around, see how it feels. But, Andromeda, I would love to have you on our staff. I think you’d be a perfect fit. Just know that I’m not interviewing anyone else until I get your answer.”

 

“So much pressure,” Andromeda said, shaking her head.

 

“No pressure at all,” said Ogden. “If you say no, then it won’t be any trouble for me to move on to the next person on my list.”

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

“Excellent,” said Tiberius with a smile.

 

“So may I ask who you’ve spoken to about the Defense position?”

 

“You can ask,” he said mysteriously. “But I can’t give any names.”

 

“Have you spoken to Harry?”

 

“I have not.”

 

“Will you?”

 

“If I do, it will be to get his advice and opinion of other candidates,” said Ogden. “But, for multiple reasons, he will not be considered for the position.”

 

“Oh, yes, you’re right,” said Andromeda. “His children, I suppose.”

 

“He has one son in the student body right now,” said Tiberius, “another who will be sorted tonight, and a daughter who is two years out. That’s at least nine years until he’d even be considered for the post. And even then… well, he’s lacking.”

 

“Lacking?” asked Andromeda in disbelief. “The savior of the wizarding world is _lacking_?”

 

“In a formal Defense education, yes,” said Ogden. “I won’t argue that he’d be magnificent when talking about battle-tested hexes or various other offensive and defensive spells. But the Defense post requires so much more than that and Harry and, quite frankly, every other student who attended Hogwarts in the nineties never received a proper Defense education. Far too many changes in standards, and far too many sub-standard or even dangerously unqualified professors in that period of time.”

 

“Now, it wasn’t that bad,” said Andromeda. “Was it? I mean, Remus certainly did a good job.”

 

“Remus was the only one who did, quite honestly,” said Tiberius. “Quirinus was possessed by Voldemort, so refused to teach anything, hiding behind a veil of fear and paranoia. Gilderoy was completely unreliable. The man we thought was Alastor turned out to be a fraud. Dolores was Fudge’s tool. And Severus and Amycus…” Tiberius shook his head. “Quite frankly, I think Harry and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley deserves immeasurable credit; not just for defeating the Dark Lord, but for teaching all of those students how to fight better than any of their professors did. But that still doesn’t mean any of them qualified to handle the more academic areas of the subject.”

 

“Except for maybe Hermione,” said Andromeda.

 

“Mrs. Hermione Weasley is on the fast track to Minister,” said Ogden. “Asking her to be the Defense professor would be like asking Gwenog Jones and Kyle Mullet to handle first year flying lessons. They could do it, but it would be so beneath them they’d get mud up their nostrils.”

 

“She has children of her own, too…”

 

“Not even a question, believe me,” said Tiberius with a smirk.

 

“So you won’t tell me who you’ve interviewed?”

 

“Strictly confidential,” said Tiberius. “Even to old girlfriends. Sorry.”

 

Andromeda chuckled. “Don’t remind me.”

 

“You make it seem so sordid,” said Tiberius with a wink.

 

“Fifty years,” she said with a sigh. “Lord, we’re getting old, aren’t we?”

 

“Yes, but we’re magic,” said Ogden, standing up. “Plenty of time left to come.”

 

“You’re off?”

 

“I’m off,” said Tiberius. “One or two more stops to make, and I suppose I should get back at Hogwarts before the train arrives. Just to make sure the place hasn’t burned down in my absence.”

 

“You have to keep your eye on those professors,” said Andromeda, standing herself. “They love to party.”

 

“So you’ll think about what we discussed?”

 

“I will think about what we discussed,” she relented.

 

“And you’ll send me an answer?”

 

“As soon as the answer comes,” she said. “Which, in all likelihood, will be a _yes_. But that’s not my answer yet, so don’t quote me.”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“Thank you for stopping by, Tiberius,” said Andromeda as she walked the headmaster to the door. “And thank you for thinking of me.”

 

“Think nothing of it, Andromeda,” he said as she opened the door.

 

“Have a safe trip.”

 

“I will,” he said, stepping out into the late morning sun. He turned around. “Oh, and Andromeda?" 

 

“Yes?” Andromeda asked, standing in the doorway.

 

“I never thought of you as a Slytherin,” said Tiberius. 

 

“Thank you,” she replied with a kind smile.

 

“Just thought you’d want to know,” he continued. “Might help you in your decision.”

 

 With that, Tiberius Ogden Apparated from the front walk, leaving Andromeda Tonks alone in her small house, pondering the future.

  


	40. Nineteen Years Later, Part III: The Other Family

"Oh, there’s a spot, Dad!”

 

“Where?” Ron Weasley asked, perking up.

 

“Right there!” said Rose, his daughter, already dressed in her Hogwarts robes, which she had been wearing since even before breakfast.

 

“You’re sitting behind me, Rosie,” said Ron.  “Can’t see where you’re pointing.”

 

“Over there, Ron,” said his wife, Hermione Weasley, from the passenger seat, pointing to the right.  “Between the Mercedes and the… actually, never mind, you probably shouldn’t park there.”

 

“Oh, I see it,” said Ron, leaning over the wheel and turning towards the empty parking space.

 

“Maybe we should go up another level,” said Hermione nervously.  “It’s a little narrow…”

 

“Nonsense,” Ron scoffed.  “This is easy.”  He spun the wheel to the right, and the Weasleys’ automobile, a large 2015 Ford Galaxy, veered toward the space.

 

“Dad, you’re looking a little tight over here,” said Rose, looking out her window.

 

“Nah, this is fine,” said Ron.  

 

“I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get out,” said his son, Hugo.

 

“Ron, maybe we should go up to another-- _watch out!_ ”

 

Ron slammed on the brake and the Galaxy came to a dead stop.  Hermione leaned out her window and felt her heart beating hard in her chest.

 

“We really shouldn’t park here,” she said.

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“Because our nose is about a centimeter away from hitting a 300,000 pound Mercedes.”

 

“Is that a lot?”

 

“About 125,000 Galleons, yeah.”

 

“Bloody hell,” Ron breathed.  “Alright, yeah.  We’ll go up another level.”

 

“Probably a good idea,” said Hermione as Ron pulled back out.  “I know you’re still new at this, but trust me, I would be nervous pulling into that spot if _I_ was driving.”

 

“Why would someone own a car that expensive, anyway?” asked Ron.  “I mean, it’s four wheels that have to stay on the road and at a certain speed.  At least with a pricey broomstick you can fly as high and as fast as you want.”

 

“Who knows how rich people think?” said Hermione as Ron drove the car up to the next floor of the multi-storey.

 

“I thought it was pretty,” said Rose.

 

“Well, that’s as good an answer as any,” said Ron.  “Why someone would want to drive a car that expensive, though…  If it were me, I’d lock it up in Gringotts and never let anyone touch it.  All right, it’s pretty much empty up here.  Take my pick.”

 

Ron pulled the Galaxy into an empty space, surrounded by a dozen other empty spaces, and shut off the engine.

 

“Nice driving, dear,” said Hermione as the four Weasleys piled out.  “Didn’t even stall out the engine this time.”

 

“Practice makes perfect, right?” said Ron, opening the trunk.  “Okay, let’s see here…  You want to help me to carry your trunk, Rose?  It’s a long walk to the station.”

 

“They have carts!” Hugo cried out, running across the car park where, sure enough, there was a row of four-wheeled push carts awaiting passengers leaving King’s Cross for long-term voyages.

 

“Well, that makes things easier,” said Hermione as Hugo came running back, pushing an empty cart at top speed.  Ron jumped in front as he came to a halt, stopping the cart just shy of the side of the van.

 

“I have Horus,” said Rose, taking her caged hawk owl from the backseat of the van.  Hermione smiled to herself at the name.  Rose Weasley was one of the brightest, if not the brightest, of the entire Weasley family.  She loved reading about ancient mythology, and the name for her owl, from the Egyptian god of the sky, fit it perfectly.

 

“You can put him on the cart, if you want,” said Ron.

 

“No, that’s fine,” she said, gazing at the bird with an inquisitive smile, one that she had worn since they bought it for her two weeks ago.  “I can carry him.”

 

“Last chance,” said Ron.  “Are you forgetting anything?”

 

“I only had the trunk and Horus,” said Rose.

 

“Well, if you decided you did forget something we can always send Artemesia,” said Hermione.  “She’s getting a little old, but she can still carry packages if they’re not too heavy.”

 

 “I want an owl,” said Hugo sadly, also for not the first time since Horus was purchased.

 

“Two more years, love,” said Hermione as the family made their way to the lift.  “Then we’ll see.”

 

\---------

 

“You know, this is a lot easier than when we were going to Hogwarts,” said Ron as they made their way through the Muggle end of the station, the quiet _whoosh_ of the high-speed trains, installed for the 2012 Olympics, breezing by them.  “One trunk’s a bit lighter than five.”

 

“Why’s that, Dad?” asked Rose.  “If there were five of you, wouldn’t you each push your own things?”

 

“You’d think that,” said Ron.  “But Fred and George liked to mess around.  I swear they would slip into me and Percy’s rooms the night before we left and toss their cauldrons and heavy things into our trunks.  I was sweating by the time I got onto the train, and Perce wasn’t looking much better.  One year they actually put a layer of bricks in the bottom of mine.”

 

“I didn’t know they did that,” said Hermione.  “Are you sure you’re not making it up?”

 

“Of course I didn’t tell you,” said Ron.  “I was trying to be all manly.”

 

“Kayla!”

 

“Rose!”

 

Rose waived to Kayla Macmillan, her best friend, as the family approached the barrier.

 

“Oh, my goodness,” said Kayla in awe, “you have such a beautiful owl!”

 

“Isn’t he great?” said Rose, holding the cage aloft so Kayla could get a better view.

 

“Morning, Weasleys,” said Kayla’s father, Ernie Macmillan, as he and his wife, Hannah, caught up with their only daughter.  Like Ron, Ernie had been put in charge of pushing Kayla’s belongings.

 

“Morning, Ernie,” said Ron, shaking Ernie’s hand.

 

“Lovely day for a train ride, isn’t it?” said Ernie.

 

“Absolutely,” said Ron.  “Bit on the chilly side, but what can you expect?  It’s September.”

 

“Little early to be this cool,” said Hannah, readjusting her jacket.

 

“Aren’t these machines fantastic, though?” asked Ernie as another bullet train passed them by.  “Wonder if the Hogwarts Express will ever get replaced with one?”

 

“Lord, I hope not,” said Hannah.

 

“You’re starting to sound like my dad, Ernie,” said Ron.

 

“So what kind of owl did you get?” Rose asked Kayla.

 

“Oh, I didn’t get one,” said Kayla.  “I decided to get a cat instead.”

 

“Well, cats are nice, too,” said Rose, noticing the square cage on top of the Macmillan’s pile for the first time.  Inside it, a small white cat was staring at the owl with some interest.

 

“If I had known that they had owls like yours, I might have reconsidered,” said Kayla, sticking her finger into the cage.  “What’s her name?”

 

“Horus,” Rose replied as the owl nipped Kayla’s fingertip.  “And it’s a he.”

 

“ _Horace_?” Ernie asked with an arched eyebrow.  “Hermione, I know you liked Potions, but talking your daughter into naming her owl after the professor…?”

 

“R-U-S,” Hermione corrected.  “It’s Egyptian.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Ernie said quickly.  “I knew that.”

 

“What’s your cat’s name?” Hermione asked Kayla.

 

“Whiskers,” Kayla said with a shrug.  “I know it’s a little boring, but…”

 

“Sometimes boring’s a good way to go,” said Ron.  “He looks a Whiskers.”

 

“Thanks,” said Kayla with a blush.

 

“Why don’t you go first, Ernie,” said Ron.  “Hey, have you seen Harry and Ginny?”

 

“They’re here already,” said Hannah.  “We saw them at the bagel shop on our way in.”

 

“Oh, good, we’re still going to beat them,” said Ron with a mischievous smirk, and pushed his cart quickly through the barrier.

 

Ernie sniffed in indignation.  “Just like him,” he said.  “It’s not like it’s a competition.  Besides, I was supposed to go first.”  And at that Ernie was gone as well.

 

“And you won’t believe who else we saw,” said Hannah to Hermione as Rose and Kayla went through.

 

“Who?”

 

“Well, I can’t say for sure,” she said uncertainly.  “But we thought it was Dennis.”

 

“Dennis?” Hermione gasped.  “Dennis _Creevey_?”

 

“Yeah,” Hannah nodded.  “I mean, he had a big bushy beard, but he was short and I thought I recognized his eyes.  We stopped to say hi, and it looked like he recognized us, but then he passed like he didn’t.  I don’t know, it was odd.”

 

“I don’t know,” said Hermione uncertainly.  “It would make sense that he’d be stand-offish…”

 

“I thought he had gone Muggle.”

 

“He did,” Hermione said as the two walked through the barrier together.  “Hence the standoffishbehavior.  But did he have a child?”

 

“A girl, yeah,” said Hannah as the two women met up with their families in the suddenly thick fog.  “But I wasn’t sure if they were going to 9 3/4s or not.  She might be a witch, or they might just be going somewhere else.”

 

“Wow,” said Hermione quietly.  

 

“I could be wrong, though,” said Hannah.  “It might not be him.  I mean, it’s been twenty years, and it was hard to see his face through the beard.” 

 

“Are we talking about Creevey?” asked Ron.

 

“Might be,” said Hannah.

 

“Yeah, Ernie told me,” Ron replied.  “Poor bloke.”

 

“Well, anyway,” said Ernie as he realized the children were staring back at them with no idea what was being discussed, “We should probably be off.  Kayla wanted to get a look at the platform before she gets on, and I heard that Cadwallader’s got a boy in second year.  Might be able to find him before the train heads off.  Care to join us?”

 

“Thanks for the offer,” said Ron, looking around the platform, or what little he could see through the dense haze.  “But I think we’re going to load Rose up and then try to find Harry and Ginny.”

 

“It was nice seeing you again, though,” said Hermione.  “We should find time to have dinner some night.”

 

“Yeah, we should make a thing of it,” said Ernie.  “You bring the Potters, we’ll bring the Dursleys, make it a shindig now that the kids are gone.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“Sorry, Hugo,” said Ernie.  “Now that _most_ of the kids are gone.”

 

“Look at it this way, Hugo,” said Ron.  “It’ll be you, Lily, and Evan.  You all can sit at the grownups table.”

 

“Really?” said Hugo, brightening noticeably.  “I get to eat with the grownups?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Can I have a glass of wine?”

 

“We’ll talk about it,” said Ron, chuckling at Hermione’s rolling eyes.

 

“I’ll see you on the train, Rose.”

 

“You too, Kayla,” said Rose.  “I’ll save you a seat.”

 

“Sure,” said Kayla with the shrug of martyrdom.  “I _suppose_ I can survive sitting with James and Al for a few hours.”

 

“Keep in touch,” said Hermione as the Weasleys and Macmillans parted ways, and the Weasleys began their walk down the platform.

 

“What do you think?” asked Ron.  “Where should we drop?”

 

“Everyone’s mobbed around the middle,” said Hermione.  “Let’s try the end, it’s probably a lot quieter.”

 

\---------

 

“I think that’s them, Al.”

 

“Well, maybe we won’t have to go searching, after all,” said Ron to Hermione as he lifted Rose’s trunk onto the train.

 

“Hi,” said Albus Potter to Rose as the Potters arrived.  Al, who looked pale from nerves, sounded immensely relieved to see them.  Rose could tell, too, and responded with a bright smile to her favorite cousin.

 

“Parked all right, then?” Ron asked Harry Potter as he, Ginny, and Lily came up from behind Albus.  “I did.  Hermione didn’t believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you?  She thought I’d have to Confound the examiner.”

 

“No, I didn’t,” Hermione responded as Ginny approached her and Ron assisted Harry with Albus’s things.  “I had complete faith in you.”

 

“He used a Confundus Charm, didn’t he?” Ginny muttered to Hermione as Harry and Ron lifted Albus’s trunk.

 

“Probably,” said Hermione with a sigh.  “But he seemed so happy, I felt bad about giving him a hard time.”

 

“Where’s James?” asked Rose.

 

“Who knows?” said Ginny.  “He disappeared by the time we got through the barrier.  Probably off to find Nicholas or Chase.”

 

“Or Nancy,” said Rose.  “She’s nice.”

 

“Is Nancy James’s girlfriend?” Lily asked Ginny.  “I tried asking him, but he got all quiet and told me to cram it.”

 

“Ick,” said Hugo.  “Why would James want a girlfriend?”

 

“Because she’s _nice_ ,” Rose repeated with great insistence.

 

“Well, just so long as she’s not a Slytherin,” said Hugo.  “They’re the worst.”

 

Rose noticed Albus’s eyes widen at the mention of Slytherin, but didn’t know why.

 

“I don’t want to be a Slytherin,” said Lily to Hugo.  “I hope I’m in Ravenclaw.”

 

“Ravenclaw?” Hugo gaped.  “Why would you want to be in _Ravenclaw_?”

 

“Because that’s where all the smart witches and wizards go,” said Lily.

 

“Yeah, right,” said Hugo.  “I wouldn’t want to be in there, anyway.  You’ll probably end up in Hufflepuff.”

 

“I will not!” said Lily.  “ _You’ll_ be a Hufflepuff, definitely!”

 

“Nuh uh,” Hugo retorted.  “It’s Gryffindor or nothing for me!”

 

“If you’re not in Gryffindor,” said Ron as he and Harry came back to the platform, “we’ll disinherit you.  But no pressure.”

 

“ _Ron_!” Hermione and Ginny said at once.  Hugo and Lily both looked at Ron, saw the kidding smile on his face, and broke into giggles.  Albus and Rose, however, exchanged nervous glances, which Hermione noticed at once.

 

“He doesn’t mean it,” she said, directing that as much to Ron as to the first years and heard Ginny mirroring her.  _We’ve been friends for too long,_ Hermione thought.  _We’re even starting to think the same._

Ron, however, wasn’t paying attention to his wife’s rebuke.  He was looking down to the other end of the train.  He turned back, tilted his head sideways to Harry, motioning in the direction he had been looking.

 

“Look who it is,” said Ron, and Harry, Ginny, and Hermione turned to see what was of such interest.  Hermione felt an odd sense of déjà vu roll over her at the sight of the pale boy with the long, pointed nose who was being seen off by his father and mother.

 

_Draco?_

No, that wasn’t Draco Malfoy.  As the father, with his receding hairline and buttoned up coat, noticed the Potters and Weasleys and gave them a nod, Hermione realized that _that_ was Draco Malfoy, along with his wife, Hedda, an attractive witch with short hair nearly as blonde as her husband’s, seeing off their son, who shared the same birthday as her daughter.

 

“So that’s little Scorpius,” said Ron with a comprehending nod.  “Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie.  Thank God you inherited your mother’s brains.”

 

“Ron, for heaven’s sake.  Don’t try to turn them against each other before they’ve even started school!”

 

“You’re right, sorry,” he said, but Hermione could see that playful glint in his eye.  “Don’t get _too_ friendly with him, though, Rosie.  Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood.”

 

“Hey!”

 

Hermione saw Ron visibly flinch away from her before he realized that she wasn’t the one yelling.  The Potters and Weasleys turned to see James Potter, Harry and Ginny’s eldest, running towards them.

 

“Teddy’s back there,” he said, bending over and resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath.  “Just seen him!  And guess what he’s doing?  _Snogging Victoire!_ ”

 

Hermione took a quick glance over at Harry and Ginny.  They all knew, of course, that Teddy and Caroline had broken up over a year ago.  But they seemed fairly unsurprised by the announcement that Teddy and Victoire were together, which was news to Hermione.

 

“ _Our_ Teddy!” James continued.  “ _Teddy Lupin!_   Snogging _our_ Victoire!  _Our_ cousin!  And I asked Teddy what he was doing—“

 

“You interrupted them?” said Ginny.  “You are so like Ron—“

 

“—and he said he came to see her off!  And then he told me to go away.  He’s _snogging_ her!”

 

“Oh, it would be lovely if they got married!” said Lily.  “Teddy would _really_ be a part of the family then!”

 

_Teddy would also be a part of the family if…_ Hermione’s thoughts trailed off.  She realized that she was the only person in the group, besides James, who was having a problem with this.

 

“Did you know about this?” she asked Ron, leaning in so that only he could hear her, as the others continued their own conversation about Teddy.

 

“Didn’t know a thing,” said Ron with a shrug.  “Bill mentioned that Vickie broke up with her boyfriend about a year ago, but nothing past that.”

 

“And this doesn’t bother you?”

 

“Why should it?” asked Ron.  “Way I see it, they’re both moving on with their lives, and I say good for them.”

 

_But this is_ my sister’s _Teddy we’re talking about!_ Hermione thought.  Futilely, she realized.  She sighed and decided not to argue the point, as even James was now past the shock of the situation and was animatedly talking to Harry and Albus about Teddy moving in with them.

 

“It’s nearly eleven,” said Harry, pulling Hermione back from her thoughts with a glance at his watch.  “You’d better get on board.”

 

“Yeah, he’s right,” said Ron, looking down at his daughter.  “You take care of yourself, okay, Rosie?”

 

“I will, Daddy,” said Rose, hugging her father and kissing him on the cheek after he bent down to her.

 

“You’re going to write?” he asked.

 

“Of course,” she said.  “Horus needs to learn how to come home.”

 

“There you go,” said Ron, kissing her on the forehead.  “Let the boy stretch his legs.  Or wings.  Or whatever.”

 

“Come here, love,” said Hermione, feeling the mist behind her eyes as Rose and Ron broke their embrace and Rose turned to her.

 

“Bye, Mum,” Rose said, wrapping her arms around her mother.

 

“You say hi to Neville and Uri for us?”

 

“I will.”

 

“And Hagrid?” Hermione continued.  “He said he was hoping that you and Al would come visit him.”

 

“Definitely,” said Rose with a sad smile.  “I should be able to find our way.”

 

“Ask James, Fabian, or Vickie if you don’t know how to get to get to his hut,” said Hermione.  “They’ve been down there plenty.”

 

“I will.”

 

“It’s easy enough to spot,” she said.  “Big hut in front of the forest.”

 

“I know,” said Rose quietly, hugging Hermione again.  “I love you, Mum.”

 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” said Hermione, feeling the tears coming.  _I’m losing my girl…_

 

“I’ll see you at Christmas.”

 

“Definitely.”

 

“Are you going to be waving when the train leaves?”

 

Hermione closed her eyes.  “I don’t know,” she said.  “Mummy needs to…”

 

“I know,” said Rose with a nod.  And Hermione was relieved to know that Rose, alone among all of the others, knew what was going on in Hermione’s mind, and accepted it without hesitation.  “It’s fine, though.  You should go.”

 

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered.  “Know that I’ll be thinking of you, though.  And I should see you, too.  Just not… just not with the others.”

 

Rose brightened at those words.  “Alright,” she said, kissing her mother on the cheek again.  “Good luck.”

 

“Thank you,” said Hermione, standing up and watching her daughter receive a hug and a kiss from Ginny before boarding the Hogwarts Express.  She turned to see Ron giving Albus a handshake.

 

“Take care of my girl, Al,” said Ron, who Hermione could see was holding back from tearing up a bit himself.

 

“I will,” said Albus, although he was showing more than a bit of nerves behind his tough exterior.

 

“Safe journey, dear,” said Hermione, giving Albus a quick hug and kiss.  As Albus turned back to Harry and Ginny and apparently whispered something to his father, Hermione turned to Ron.

 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said to him.

 

“Really?” he asked.  “You’re not going to see Rose off?”

 

“I will,” said Hermione.  “But she already knows what’s going on.”

 

“What _is_ going on?” Ron asked.

 

_Emotional range of a teaspoon,_ Hermione thought with an internal chuckle.

 

“I’ll talk about it later,” she said.  “I’ll meet you all back here.”

 

“Hugo and Lily are getting kind of hungry,” said Ron.  “How about you meet us around the Whistlestop?”

 

“I can do that,” Hermione said, giving her husband a quick kiss.  “I’ll see you in a bit.”

 

Ron waved to Hermione as she walked towards the engine, disappearing into the haze just as she passed Draco and his family.

 

“Why are they all _staring_?”

 

_Because she’s beautiful, that’s why,_ thought Ron absently after Hermione before realizing why Albus, who was now leaning out of the window, was asking.  Ron looked around to see that many of the other students were craning their necks in their direction, dying for a peek at Harry and is scar.

 

“Don’t let it worry you,” said Ron with a smile.  “It’s me.  I’m extremely famous.”

 

Albus and Rose laughed from the train as it began to move.  Ron took Hugo’s hand and the two walked alongside the Hogwarts Express as it slowly pulled from the station.  He was able to get one last reach, one last touch, one last squeeze of his daughter’s hand before she was pulled away from him, disappearing into the mist.

 

“He’ll be alright,” Ron heard his little sister murmur to Harry.

 

“I know he will,” Harry replied, absentmindedly touching his scar.

 

_She’ll be alright,_ Ron nodded as the sound of the train faded into the distance.  _I know she will._

 

“Dad?”

 

“Yeah, Hugo?” Ron asked in response to the small squeeze.

 

“Where’s Mummy?”

 

“Yeah,” said Ginny, along with Harry and Lily looking around as they tore their eyes away from the train and back to reality.  “Where’s Hermione?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Ron.  Although as he said it he realized that he had some idea.  “She’ll be back, though.”

 

“Should we wait here for her?” asked Harry.

 

_They’ll be alright,_ Ron’s thoughts repeated.

 

“Nah,” he said, turning away from the platform and walking with the three Potters back to the barrier.  “She’ll catch up.  Who’s hungry?”


	41. Nineteen Years Later, Part IV: Three Departures

"Well, this stinks," Ernie Macmillan grumbled as he looked around the platform.  "I could have sworn Benny had a son at Hogwarts." 

  

"He still might," said Hannah Macmillan, Ernie's wife.  "Just because we haven't seen him doesn't mean he's not here.  Not that we could see anything in this mist." 

  

"When's the last time you saw him, Dad?" asked Ernie's daughter, Kayla, as the three Macmillans walked along the length of the Hogwarts Express, Ernie pushing Kayla's trunk and cat on a cart. 

  

 "Lord, I don't know," Ernie said with a sharp exhale.  "Probably not since the Battle." 

  

"Well, there you go," said Kayla.  "It's been twenty years.  For all you know, he could be bald or weighing thirty stone or missing a nose." 

  

"I'd think I'd still be able to recognize him…" 

  

"It's been twenty years," Kayla shrugged.  "He might not even be a _he_ anymore." 

  

"Cadwallader as a _she_ ," Ernie said with a shudder.  "Bad thought." 

  

"Your daughter talks much sense," said Hannah, poking Ernie in the side.  "Besides, he's one person in a mass of over a hundred families.  We don't even know what his wife and son look like.  We don't even know their names.  And, we barely even knew him when we were at school.  In fact, why _are_ we looking so hard for him?" 

  

"Networking, love." 

  

"Right, of course," Hannah said with a bemused shake of the head. 

  

 "Ah, well," said Ernie, defeated.  "Did you get enough of a tour of the platform, Kayla?" 

  

"Yes, sir," said Kayla giddily.  "Really great, thanks for showing me." 

  

"Do we want to load here?  Or do you want to go find Rose first?" 

  

 "I should be fine here," said Kayla, looking up and down the length of the train.  "Rose said she'd save me a seat, so I can just wander until I find her.  Besides, I want to look around the train first, see if I can meet any more first years." 

  

"Sounds like a fine plan," said Ernie, pushing the cart up to the side of the train and lifting the cage to the passenger car.  Kayla was an incredibly inquisitive girl, and Ernie was proud that he had a daughter who loved to learn through experience, and also loved to know as many people, and as much about them, as possible. 

  

"I'll take Whiskers, though," said Kayla quickly, grabbing the cage from Ernie's hands.  "I don't want her to get lonely." 

  

"She'll help you get to know more people, too, am I right?" Ernie said. 

  

"That, too," said Kayla with a smile. 

  

"Well, at the very least you'll learn who's allergic to dander," said Hannah. 

  

 "Always something to know," said Kayla.  "Just in case someone ends up in a room with me, I don't want her to be a bother." 

  

 "Of course," said Hannah.  "Are you ready to go?" 

  

"Yes," said Kayla, setting the cage down on the stone platform and giving her mother a hug. 

  

"Safe journey," said Hannah, kissing her on the top of the head. 

  

 "Thanks, Mum," Kayla said into her mother's shoulder. 

  

"Love you." 

  

"Love you, too." 

  

 Kayla and Hannah released each other, and Kayla turned to her father, giving him another hug. 

  

"Now you have a lot of fun, okay?" 

  

"I will." 

  

"Make lots of new friends." 

  

"Of course I will," she said with a chuckle. 

  

"And study hard." 

  

"When don't I?" 

  

He bent down and kissed her on the cheek.  "I love you, Kaylabee." 

  

 "Love you, too, Dad." Kayla said, blushing slightly at her father's baby name for her before turning around and climbing aboard the train. 

  

"So what do you think?" Ernie asked, sticking his hands into his pockets as Kayla disappeared from sight. 

  

"I think I want to go home and cry for a few hours," said Hannah, wiping her eyes.  "That's alright, isn't it?" 

  

 "Perfectly alright," said Ernie with a smile.  He wrapped his arm around her shoulder.  "Do you want to stay to see her off?" 

  

 "I don't know if I can do it," Hannah smiled, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

  

"Let's head home, then," said Ernie with a squeeze.  He removed his arm and, taking her hand, the two Macmillans, in love since their early days at Hogwarts, walked toward the barrier. 

  

"I still wish I could find Cadwallader," Ernie muttered, continuing to squint through the haze. 

  

"Five more years, love," said Hannah, chuckling.  "The odds are in your favor." 

  

As they walked away from the train, Ernie noticed three figures standing in the mist nearby.  He stopped in his tracks and squinted. 

  

"Good lord," he said quietly.  "Is that who I think it is?" 

  

Hannah stopped and looked.  "Is that _Malfoy_?" 

  

"I think it is," Ernie replied.  "Huh.  That's right, doesn't his son have the same birthday as Rose?" 

  

"Good memory," said Hannah.  "Do you want to go say hello?  You know, _network_?" 

  

"With _Malfoy_?" Ernie said with a snort.  "Please.  He's not worth the time.  Let's just head home." 

  

\---------

  

"This is horrible," Hedda Malfoy sniffed as Draco lifted the trunk onto the train.  "Being seen in public, doing manual labor.  Work for servants..." 

  

 "We've made do for years, Hedda," Draco grunted.  "We'll still make do." 

  

After the war, Draco, Lucius, and Narcissa Malfoy were cleared of all charges against them.  This was thanks in no small part to the efforts of Potter and his legion.  However, they had not gone unscathed. 

  

It was Granger's brilliant idea, of course.  The Malfoys would be free, but forbidden to have any more house-elves.  All elves under their employ were given the choice between freedom and donation to Hogwarts, St. Mungo's, or other charitable organizations.  The Malfoys were also forbidden to purchase any replacement elves. 

  

It had been a long, hard slog those first few years.  Malfoy Manor was already in ruins because of the actions of Aunt Bellatrix and the werewolf Greyback.  So much of the Malfoy fortune had gone toward its repair that the family was unable to afford hiring a magical staff of witches and wizards to tend to their daily needs. Not that any wizard or witch worth their salt would reduce themselves to doing elf work. 

  

The laundry piled up those first few years.  The dirt and dust piled up.  And the family spent more than a few nights eating cold sandwiches after their numerous culinary failures.  Lucius himself became notorious for burning water that he was trying to boil, and Narcissa had gotten lost more than once trying to find the kitchen. 

  

But eventually, with a mental swift kick in the arse, the Malfoys pulled themselves together.  Just like they always did. 

 

“Disgraceful,” Hedda sniffed. Hedda Gibbon, who was also born into some money, had been allowed to marry Draco because her mother knew that there was money to be had, enough to keep her daughter happy and healthy after the death of Viggo Gibbon. 

  

Lucius and Narcissa deftly avoided any conversation about their lack of servants until after the marriage had taken place.

  

"Well, look who decided to grace us with their presence." 

  

Draco lifted his head at the sound of his wife’s sarcastic tone.  "Yes?" 

  

 Hedda tilted her head to the side, and Draco looked through the fog at the small group of figures a short distance away.  All of them were staring at him.  At first, it took him a few moments, but then the pieces started falling into place.   

  

The untidy black hair.  The glasses. 

  

The scar. 

  

 It had been twenty years since Draco had last seen Harry Potter, whom he had always considered his nemesis.  Twenty years since Potter and Weasley had saved him and Goyle from the Fiendfyre, despite the fact that Potter's hatred for Draco was just as palpable as his own. Draco had the scar from Harry’s _Sectumsempra_ slashed across his chest to prove it. 

  

Draco had done his best to repay the life debt created that night. Created because of Crabbe’s stupidity.  But Potter, the Weasleys, and Granger (now a Weasley herself) turned down his offer. 

  

Twenty years it had been since these two had faced each other.  Draco had avoided Potter at his wedding, as Potter had avoided him at his.  Might have been afraid of what would happen when they met. 

  

Draco was personally afraid that the hatred would return at the sight of that scar.  He didn't want the hate to return.  The hate was born of his father, and of his father's master. 

  

But the master, the Dark Lord, was dead now. 

  

And so was the hatred. 

  

In its place was simply... 

  

"They think they're so wonderful," Hedda hissed.  She wasn't as self-centered as Draco's first girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson.  Having a father die in battle for a losing cause would humble most people.  But when it bubbled to the surface, it bubbled powerfully.  "Strutting about like they're God's Children.  It makes me..." 

  

"Leave it, Hedda," said Draco quietly. 

  

 "Draco, I'm simply..." 

  

"Leave it, Hedda," Draco said calmly.  "Leave them be." 

  

Draco could hear her suck in breath behind him, ready to start another tirade, but thankfully just let it out again as quiet air.  Draco was glad of it.  The last thing Scorpius needed was to hear the old line again.  Draco would let his son choose his friends and his enemies on his own, and not because his family told him which was which. 

  

 Hedda turned back to Scorpius to dote on him, their only son (the Malfoy tradition), and didn't see Draco give a short nod to Potter. 

  

_In the past, I would have agreed with her,_ he thought.  _Hell, in the past I would have started going off on them before she did.  But I stopped her.  I'm not that boy anymore._

  

The nod, and the note of acceptance that he saw behind the glasses, said that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were even.  And that was all. 

  

 "Now you be sure to write," said Hedda as Draco turned back to his wife and son.  

  

"Of course, mother," said Scorpius.  He was trained to respect his elders, Draco knew that much. 

  

"And-- Good Lord!" 

  

Hedda jumped back as a young boy with bright red hair streaked past them and towards the Potters and Weasleys. 

  

"One of the Weasleys, I assume," Hedda drawled with great distaste. 

  

"No," said Draco.  "I think that's one of the Potters." 

  

"How can you tell?" 

  

"Mother," Draco replied, thinking back to Narcissa's discussion of her rare meetings with her only surviving relative.  "Andromeda has a picture on her mantle of the werewolf's boy with Potter and his children, mother told me.  Potter’s oldest is a redhead, and Weasley’s only boy is younger than Scorpius. So that’s probably a Potter." 

  

 "So many of them," said Hedda indignantly.  "It's not a wonder the Weasleys always had problems with money.  They don't know when to stop spitting them out." 

  

 "They do well enough," said Draco.  "I’ve heard Granger's going to be Shacklebolt's assistant soon.  Preening her for the Minister's position when he retires." 

  

"Pathetic," Hedda said sickly.  "Having a Mudblood in charge of..." 

  

"Leave it," Draco said again.  And, thankfully, she did. 

  

"The train will be leaving soon," she said instead. 

  

"Of course," Draco replied.  "I would like a word alone with Scorpius, if you would." 

  

"Fine," Hedda said shortly.  "But I still get the last word." 

  

_As always._

  

Hedda stepped away, and Draco got down onto one knee. 

  

"How much do you know about our situation, Scorpius?" Draco asked. 

  

"What do you mean, father?" 

  

"Our family," Draco continued.  "How much have you heard your grandparents talk of people's opinions of the Malfoys?" 

  

"Well, that's easy," said Scorpius with a smile.  "The Malfoys are the strongest family there is.  Everyone knows that." 

  

Draco sighed.  They had done their best to shield their son from the reality of social status for years.  Now that he was getting on that train... 

  

"The Malfoys," he began slowly, "used to be powerful.  Respected.  Our influence and…  Well, anyone who crossed us was in trouble.  Do you understand?" 

  

"Of course, Father," said Scorpius. 

  

"But that's not the way things are anymore," Draco said.  "The Malfoy name isn't what it used to be." 

  

"Sir?" 

  

"There are people who think we fought on the wrong side during the war," Draco continued carefully.  "People who will connect our names with the Death Eaters and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."  Even twenty years later, he still had difficulty...  "And they won't be wrong.  Your grandfather, your father...  we did things that we're not proud of." 

  

Scorpius remained silent, but his eyes widened at his father's admissions. 

  

"And those who fought along with the Dark Lord see us as..." 

  

_Mother and Father running through the hundreds of dueling witches and wizards.  Running past them even as Neville Longbottom destroyed Nagini, even as Molly Weasley struck down Aunt Bellatrix, and even as Harry Potter met Lord Voldemort for the last time._

  

_Running to him..._                

  

"...Well, we left them late in the war," he said.  "Our perspectives changed.  Our loyalties changed. Some would even say that we helped bring about the end of the war. The end of the Dark Lord.  And _they_ wouldn't be wrong. 

  

"You'll be at Hogwarts with children your age," Draco continued.  "They may not know the Malfoy name.  What it represented before, and what it represents now.  But some might.  And you may have your share of enemies because of it, even if you don't want them." 

  

Scorpius’ eyes widened more, and his already pale face went even whiter.  He took a nervous glance back at the train, as though it was suddenly a dragon waiting to swallow him whole. 

  

"But that will change," Draco said, turning his son back to face him, "if you remember what your grandfather says.  Bear yourself well, Scorpius.  Remember who is the master of you.  Be true to yourself, respect yourself, and others will follow." 

  

"Yes, sir," said Scorpius quietly. 

  

 "It's much more difficult to make friends than it is to make enemies," Draco continued.  "And it will take hard work to find out which is which." 

  

  _Who cares what you think?_ Crabbe echoed through his mind.  _I don't take your orders no more,_ Draco _.  You an' your dad are finished._

  

"But I have trust in you, son," he said, shaking off the voice from his past.  "You're a Malfoy.  And Malfoys still have the power to come out ahead in the end.  Do you understand?" 

  

 "I think so, sir." 

  

"Good."  Draco Malfoy stood up and put his hand on his son's shoulder.  "Take care of yourself, Scorpius Hyperion.  Do well.  Make us proud." 

  

"I'll try, Father." 

  

"Take care, dear," said Hedda, wrapping Scorpius in a hug.  "Write often." 

  

"Yes, Mother." 

  

Scorpius adjusted his small pack, which contained his robes separate from the rest of his trunk, and climbed onto the train. 

  

"We're sending him to the wolves, aren't we?" Hedda said with a sigh as Scorpius disappeared. 

  

"Probably," said Draco.  "But he's a Malfoy.  If anyone has the power to defeat the wolves, it's him." 

  

A woman with brown bushy hair approached them, and it took Draco a moment to recognize her as she walked swiftly between them and the train.

  

"Malfoy," Hermione Weasley said with a glance, not even slowing her step. 

  

"Granger," Malfoy nodded in response as she passed. 

  

\---------

  

  _Good Lord,_ the man formerly known as Dennis Creevey thought as she passed him.  _Is that...?_

  

Patrick Collins tried to keep a straight face as Hermione Granger passed by him and his family.  When two others who claimed to know him had confronted the Collinses on the way into the station, Patrick was able to shrug it off.  He barely recognized them, anyway, and he hoped that Ellen and Meghan thought it was just a case of mistaken identity. 

  

_What was it? Bert?  Hayley?_

  

_Forget it,_ his mind retorted.  _It's not worth the trouble._

  

But Hermione... 

  

 Along with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, Colin Creevey idolized Hermione Granger during his days at Hogwarts.  Which meant Colin’s younger brother idolized her, as well.  Patrick vaguely remembered fancying her once upon a time, when she was helping them learn how to fight… 

  

_Just proves how misled we were,_ he thought, and pulled him back to the situation at hand. 

  

"Now I want you to listen to me carefully, Meghan," Patrick said seriously as Ellen stood behind him.  After Patrick feigned ignorance about passing through the barrier, eventually following another family onto Platform 9 3/4s, the trio now stood in front of the Hogwarts Express, Meghan's suitcase loaded safely. 

  

"Dad, I know, alright?" Meghan Collins sighed impatiently.  "You've already said it to me a hundred times in the past two days." 

  

"But I mean it," he said, kneeling down.  "These people can be very dangerous.  I want you to be extremely careful, do you understand?" 

  

"Yes, Dad," Meghan said with a roll of her eyes. 

  

"Don't you roll your eyes at me," he snapped, and pointed a warning finger at her face.  "If there is any trouble, and I mean _any_ trouble, I want you to contact us immediately, do you understand?" 

  

 "Honestly, Patrick," Ellen sighed.  "You're going to give her a nervous breakdown if you keep up with all of this." 

  

Patrick glanced at Meghan, who was anxiously looking at the train.  He could tell that she couldn't wait to depart, and realized how far away from a nervous breakdown his daughter was. 

  

Oh, how he wished he could make her see... 

  

"Keep your head down," he said quickly.  "And if anyone gives you any trouble, you just ignore them.  And contact us if..." 

  

"Why are you so freaked out, Dad?" Meghan argued.  "You don't know anything about us!" 

  

_About_ us, _she says,_ Patrick thought helplessly.  _She's known she's a witch for two bloody days and it's already_ about us. 

  

"I know enough," Patrick said.  "Those two men that visited...  I didn't like the look of them, that's all." 

  

He was lying through his teeth.  He knew it.  His family was still unaware of his connection to the wizarding world, and he intended to keep it that way. 

  

_What connection?_

  

_Exactly.  There_ is _no more connection.  So I have no reason to tell them who I used to be._

 

“But Neville and Dean were cool,” Meghan countered. “Dean was a Muggleborn, too. And Uri? She was _so nice_ when were shopping, you should have been there...”

  

"If you want to leave," Patrick continued unabated.  "If you're feeling threatened, you can come home.  We can finish your primary schooling by ourselves and get you ready for high school next fall." 

  

"Dad, I'll be fine," Meghan said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.  "Now can you please stop lecturing me?  The train's leaving soon." 

  

"Yes, _Dad_ , that's enough," Ellen snapped, stepping forward.  "You have fun, dear.  Study hard." 

  

Meghan smiled in relief as her Mum gave her a hug.  "I will."  At least _someone_ was all right with this. 

  

"I guess you get a Christmas holiday," Ellen said.  "So we'll see you then.  And we'll try to figure out this...  this owl thing in the meantime. Maybe write you a letter." 

  

"Diagon Alley," said Meghan, playfully tugging the Muggle Charm hanging around her mother's neck (Patrick wore one of his own, but only he, along with Longbottom and Thomas, knew it was completely useless).  "Plenty to choose from there." 

  

"Do well, and I might even be able to talk your father into buying you one next year." 

  

 "That would be wicked," said Meghan, her grin growing wider.   “And I’ll write you when I get a chance, I promise.”

  

Patrick sighed.  "Take care, love," he said, hugging her. 

  

"Thanks, Dad." 

  

"And be careful." 

  

"I _know!_ " 

  

 As the train whistle blew behind them, Meghan pulled herself from her father's grasp, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before running up the stairs onto the train just as it was pulling away.  Ellen and Patrick Collins watched in silence as it pulled away, Ellen's hands crossed nervously in front of her. 

  

"This is a mistake," Patrick muttered, and not for the first time. 

  

"Will you stop it, Pat?" Ellen said sharply as the train disappeared.  "She'll be fine." 

  

"I hope so..." 

  

 "Patrick," Ellen said with a sigh.  "There's something you're not telling me." 

  

"There's nothing I haven't told you," Patrick retorted.  _Lying again._

  

"Well...  well, why do you think they're so dangerous?" Ellen asked.  "Before two days ago you didn't know they existed.  Did you?" 

  

Patrick remained silent. 

  

"You reacted horribly when those letters first arrived," said Ellen.  "Why?" 

  

Patrick sighed.  "Because..." 

  

"Are you one of them?" Ellen asked, her arms tightening around herself.  "Are you a wizard?" 

  

"No," Patrick said.  And that was the truth.  _I'm not a wizard.  Not anymore._

  

"Then _what_?" Ellen insisted.  "What is going on?" 

  

 Patrick looked down towards the end of the platform, where the fog was starting to lift.  He saw the back of Hermione Granger's (Hermione Potter's?  Hermione Krum's?) head.  She was having an animated conversation with...  a blue-haired boy? 

  

"I'm not a wizard," Patrick Collins repeated aloud.  "I knew some once.  When I was young and stupid.  But that was a long time ago." 

  

He turned away from the scene, away from the platform, and walked back to the barrier. 

  

"I'm not who I used to be." 

  

Back to reality. 

 


	42. Nineteen Years Later, Part V: Granger Stubborn

Teddy Lupin had been thinking about Victoire Weasley a lot that day.

 

It had started out simple enough. Get to Shell Cottage. Help her finish her packing. Help her take a sweep of the house, which would be harder and easier without Bill, Fleur, or Matilda blocking their progress. Or helping them search unknown areas of the house, areas that only a mother would know. Areas where an extra sock, a set of scales, or a copy of _Fantastic Beasts_ would be hiding. 

 

And then, Grandmum Tonks let slip that one little idea… 

 

Ever since then, it was as if some huge battle was waging inside Teddy’s head. Legions of troops clashing with conflicting thoughts, like some gigantic debate club meeting, only the debate club allowed swords and retorts and catapults and the occasional hormonally-charged image and giant transforming robot. 

 

Peter Jackson would make a fortune. 

 

_Gran’s right, you know,_ one side would say. _You should try to move on._

 

_But I don’t want to move on!_ the other side would reply. 

 

_It’s not like she gave you much of a choice in the matter. And why_ not _Victoire?_

 

_Because she’s not…_

 

_Because she’s not Hermione? You’re going to live a long lonely life if you hold your breath for one person. You’ll be turning blue from the lack of oxygen as she’s strolling down the aisle with some other bloke._

 

_I’m not holding my breath…_

 

_Victoire’s single. She’s one of your closest friends._

 

_Yeah, because she’s like my cousin…_

 

_But she’s_ not _your cousin. Never has been. No blood, remember? And she’s really cute…_

 

_Not as cute as…_

 

Just _as cute,_ the swarms of Victoire backers cried. _Don’t lie. It’s not like you’ve never thought about what it would be like to kiss her._

 

_Well…_

 

_Eh? There you go…_

 

_No! It’s stupid! It’s not… I mean…_

 

_For the love of God, there’s a reason she broke up with you!  Move on, see other people!  And who better to move on with than Vic!_

 

The thoughts waged a fierce battle as Teddy wandered around Victoire’s bedroom, barely looking at her as they spoke of simple banalities like work, school, friends. Jerking his hand back from a misplaced pair of her knickers like it was a hot skillet, and then that hormone monster wondering if the knickers she was currently wearing were that… frilly… 

 

The armies of Hermione Caroline Granger and Victoire Weasley fought valiantly as Teddy and Victoire took the Floo to a station near King’s Cross. Things seemed to be at a stalemate as they crossed onto Platform 9 ¾ and found Christine Hogan, Sam Welts, and Sarah Harvey. Teddy was so engrossed in his internal battle that he didn’t even notice the encouraging glance Christine gave Victoire as she and Sam boarded the train, hand-in hand.  Nor did he notice the whisper in Victoire's ear by Sarah as she followed the couple close behind, leaving Teddy and Victoire alone in front of the first carriage of the Hogwarts Express. 

 

The thoughts about Victoire Weasley had been plaguing him for hours. Which is why, when he was suddenly tasting her cherry flavored lip balm instead of receiving a sisterly hug goodbye, his first reaction was to finally return the favor. 

 

The Weasley armies howled in victory, standing triumphant over the valiant troops from the Land of Granger. 

 

“What the _fuck?_ ” 

 

Teddy pulled away from Victoire, their lips separating with a tiny _pop_. They turned, wide-eyed, towards the source of the vulgarity, a short redheaded boy whose mouth was about an inch from touching the stone floor. 

 

“James,” Teddy said, hearing his voice crack. “Hey.” 

 

“Wha?” James Potter stuttered, his pointing finger moving helplessly between the two as if he were trying to draw some invisible line. “What… what… are… what…?” 

 

“I’m just…” Teddy looked back at Victoire, who was smiling despite herself. “Look, James, I’m just seeing her off.” 

 

“With _your tongue?_ ” 

 

“James, if you could give us a few minutes…” 

 

“Why?” James blurted out. “So you can suck my cousin’s face some more?” 

 

“James…” 

 

“That’s…” James looked at the two of them in shock. “God, Teddy, that’s just…” 

 

“James, will you just _sod off already?_ ” 

 

James looked like he wanted to argue his point more vehemently but the anger on Teddy’s face was a look seen so rarely that James instead turned and ran full tilt down to the other end of the train. 

 

“Well,” Victoire sighed, her hands still on his shoulders. “We’re about thirty seconds away from going public, aren’t we?” 

 

“I… I don’t know…” as Teddy looked back at Victoire, into her large brown eyes, reality crashed back down on him. He involuntarily took a step back, and Victoire’s arms dropped to her sides. “I don’t… What just happened there?” 

 

Victoire took a deep, steadying breath. “I think what just happened,” she said slowly, “was that I finally did something I’ve been wanting to do for years now.” 

 

“Something… something for years?” Teddy said, leaning against a lamppost for support. 

 

“About that,” Victoire said with a shrug. “Year and a half? Two years? Ever since I cast my Patronus and found out I was thinking of you and not Nate.” 

 

“Oh,” Teddy said quietly. Victoire seemed to recognize his discomfort, and was avoiding his gaze, staring instead at the engine of the Hogwarts Express, the only other thing they could see though the mist. “So, um,” he stammered, knowing he needed to say _something_. “How was it?” 

 

“It was okay,” she said with a small nod. “Could have been better.” 

 

“Sorry,” said Teddy. “I guess… I guess I’m a little out of practice…” 

 

“It’s just hard kissing someone who’s in love with someone else.” 

 

Teddy nodded silently, but gave no other response. The two Gryffindors stood in silence. Part of Teddy wished that she would just get on the train so this awkwardness could end. Another part wished he could have another chance. 

 

“I’m trying,” he said finally. “I’m… I love her. But I know…” 

 

“Ted, you don’t have to explain,” Victoire said quietly. “It was stupid of me…” 

 

“No, it wasn’t,” Ted replied, standing up. “Look, Vic… I… I do care about you.” 

 

“ _Care’s_ a rough word,” Victoire said, and Teddy was stricken to hear a crack of sadness in her voice. “ _Care’s_ what you say about someone when there’s not enough there for more.” 

 

“But I don’t mean it that way,” Teddy said. “Vic… I know I should be trying to move on. I know I should be trying to meet other women, try to see if I can find love somewhere else. And, quite honestly, whenever I think about moving on, you’re the one at the top of my list.” 

 

“Waiting for the great big _but_ ,” Victoire replied. 

 

“But… but not yet,” said Teddy. “I’m still not over her. And I intend to see this shit between me and Hermione through to the bitter end. Until she tells me she’s found someone else, or until I wake up someday and realize I love someone more than I love her…” 

 

“That’s not going to happen until you start looking,” said Victoire sadly. 

 

“That’s not true,” said Teddy, stepping forward. “You said it yourself, that night in the common room. One day they’re there, and one day they’re _there_.” 

 

“You know I was talking about you and me when I said that, right?” Victoire sighed, leaning against the train. 

 

“All I’m saying is that it might happen to me someday,” Teddy explained. “And when it happens, it might happen with you. But it hasn’t happened yet. I’m not ready to let her go.” 

 

“So I suppose I just have to wait?” Victoire said in barely a whisper. 

 

“No,” Teddy insisted. “No, for the love of God, please don’t wait. Live your life. Don’t make the same mistake that I’m making right now, please. If you find someone else, no one will be happier for you than I will.” 

 

“And…” Victoire said in words that looked like they were paining her. “If… if you end up back with HC… Damn it, I’ll love you for it. I said it that night, and I still mean it. It’ll hurt a lot more, but I still mean it. If I can't have you, then I want you to have her.” 

                

“Thanks,” Teddy said with a shy smile. “But… if things play out, and… I mean, if I suddenly wake up one day with her gone, or if I wake up one day with you more _there_ than she is…” 

 

“We’ll talk about that if it ever happens,” said Victoire. 

 

“Just know that you’d make a hell of a girlfriend,” Teddy said. “I really wish I could say something more than that, something that would make all of this easier for you.” 

 

“You can’t,” said Victoire with a shake of her head as she pushed herself back upright. “I’ll just have to be content with ‘If not for Hermione…’” 

 

“Vic, I mean it,” Teddy said, stepping forward and taking her gently by the shoulders. “You’d make one hell of a girlfriend. Most of my friends would say I’d be mad to turn you down. Hell, part of _me_ is saying I’m mad for turning you down.” 

 

“Time will tell,” Victoire said. “If the time comes, and we’re both single…” 

 

“Then we’ll take it from there,” Teddy shrugged. “That’s all I can really promise.” 

 

Victoire nodded. “I’ll go with that.” 

 

“Good,” said Teddy as the whistle blew for the Hogwarts Express. 

 

“I’d… I’d better go,” said Victoire. 

 

“Yeah…” Teddy said. 

 

Victoire gave him a great hug. And he hugged her back. And they pulled apart and looked at each other. 

 

“If it helps,” he said in parting. “It was a great kiss.” 

 

Victoire chuckled wetly. “Thank you,” she said with a grin. 

 

He kissed her on the forehead and, because he felt like they both needed it, he kissed her on the lips. Just once. Chaste. Lips closed. Just because it felt like the right thing to do. 

 

From the smile on Victoire’s lips and a whispered “thank you,” Teddy knew that a parting, goodbye kiss was what they both needed despite the last few minutes of awkwardness. She squeezed his hand quickly, comfortingly, and ran up the steps and onto the Hogwarts Express as it began to pull from the station. 

 

Carriage after carriage rolled past him. Smiling children leaned out of the windows, waving to their parents and to anyone who was watching. Three more passed, and he saw Victoire emerge beside Chelsea Lemming, and the two of them waved to him as they passed. His eyes scanned down the row, counting how many were left, and he saw another woman standing not fifteen feet away, waving to the last carriage, where James and Albus Potter, Rose Weasley, and Kayla Macmillan were waving furiously at them both.  He raised his hand slowly to the children as they passed. 

 

At last, the Hogwarts Express had departed on its journey to Hogsmeade. The sound echoed into the distance through the archway out of King’s Cross, and the woman turned to Teddy for the first time. 

 

“Hello, Teddy.” 

 

“Hi, Aunt Jean,” Teddy said nervously. _How long had she been standing there?_

 

“So,” Hermione Jean Weasley said, leaning against a lamppost. “You and Victoire?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Teddy said, dropping his gaze. “Maybe.” 

 

“It looked like it,” she replied conversationally. 

 

“How long… how much did you see?” 

 

“I saw enough,” said Hermione Caroline Granger’s older sister. “James lovingly filled in the rest.” 

 

Teddy flinched. _Going public._ “I don’t see what the big deal is,” he said. “I mean, I’m free to see whoever I want, right?” 

 

“You are,” Jean replied. 

 

“So if Victoire decided to kiss me, or I decided to kiss her…” 

 

“Then there’s nothing wrong with it,” she said. “You’re free to snog whoever you want, to date whoever you want.” 

 

“And so why are you here?” asked Teddy, as sharply and shortly as possible. The look in Jean’s eyes… As much as he tried to stand up for himself against her (after all, her sister was the one who made these rules), the look she was giving him made him want to sink into the ground and be alone for a long time. 

 

“I’m here because we need to talk,” said Jean. 

 

Teddy was taken aback by the sincerity of her tone. Aunt Jean had been in his life for as long as he could remember. She had been at every Christmas, every birthday. But for all of the times Teddy had sat down with Harry or with Ron or with any of the other Weasleys and had a real talk… Well, he couldn’t remember the last time that he had ever spoken to Aunt Jean alone. Maybe never. 

 

“What about?” he asked warily. 

 

“Do you want to sit down?” she asked, motioning to a nearby bench. The platform was emptying quickly as all of the families of the departing students were making their way back home, and the end on which they stood was becoming a ghost town. 

 

“Yeah,” he said. “Sure.” As they made their way over to a nearby bench, Teddy saw a middle-aged couple pass. The woman looked like she was trying to engage in a serious discussion with the man. The man, short and bearded, glanced over at Teddy and Aunt Jean with what Teddy sensed as recognition before returning to the conversation with his wife. 

 

By the time Teddy sat down, the couple was gone, and there was no one left on this end but one Weasley and one Lupin. The last Lupin. 

 

Aunt Jean sat down beside him, and sat in silence. Teddy just wanted to tell her to get on with it, with whatever lecture she was going to give him about fooling around with her niece, doing her sister wrong, whatever. But the struggle he could see going on inside her head, even as she stared at the now-empty tracks, let him realize that she would talk in her own time. 

 

“Seven years,” she said at last. 

 

“Seven… Seven years?” Teddy replied. “What about…?” 

 

“Seven years I knew Ron,” said Jean. “Seven years of fighting, of snipping, of tearing at each other’s throats. There were times when we would go for weeks… _months_ without speaking to one another. At times it got so bad that… When we were searching for the Horcruxes we even…” 

 

Jean trailed off. 

 

“Aunt Jean?” 

 

“Forget it,” Jean replied. “It’s really not important. What I’m trying to say is, for seven years we fought, seven years we would go between hating each other and being best friends. And through all of those years, the good times and the bad, there wasn’t a moment that I didn’t love him.” 

 

Jean sighed, and closed her eyes. “There’s this… Lord, it’s almost hereditary,” she said with a shake of her head. “We Grangers have a stubborn streak in us. My granddad and grandmum would have extraordinary rows sometimes over the most trivial things. My mum and dad I guess were the same way when they were courting. And my dad waited… God, he waited three years before he proposed to her. Carried the ring around with him every day for three years, just waiting for the perfect moment. To him, it wouldn’t do to just propose at any old time. He needed it to be just right. He was stubborn that way, and it kept him awake at night, wondering if the perfect moment would ever come.” 

 

Teddy chuckled. “Dan?” he said. “Easy-going Dan Granger was kept awake because he didn’t want to _just_ marry his wife?” 

 

“He’s stubborn,” said Jean with a shrug. “They both are. Why do you think I have a sister with the same name? Because they both insist that Hermione is her name. It was the name they gave to her when she was born. It didn’t matter that they didn’t know that I existed and it didn’t matter that they didn’t know that Dan and Charlotte Granger existed. Hermione was her name, and Hermione it would stay, no matter how many confusing conversations would arise over the coming decades.” 

 

Teddy smiled. How many times, how many Christmases and birthdays, had he called out Hermione Caroline’s name, only to have Aunt Jean come running? “I’m surprised she didn’t stay a Wilkins,” he said. 

 

“Oh, and don’t think that they didn’t have _that_ conversation, either,” said Jean, patting Teddy’s leg. 

 

“You’re joking…” 

 

“Before we even left Australia it started,” Jean said reluctantly. “In the end Kingsley, Ron, and I were able to talk them into at least changing her name to _Granger_. The Wilkinses were going to disappear, after all. We couldn’t leave any loose threads, couldn’t have one of their neighbors from Tottenham find a _Hermione Wilkins_ in a London phone book twenty years later and get suspicious.” 

 

“Right, because _Hermione_ ’s such a common name…” 

 

“I said they should name her _Judy_ ,” said Jean. “But, what can I say? Stubborn.” 

 

“Judy?” 

 

“What?” Jean asked innocently. “Judy Dench is my favorite actress. I’m allowed to get away from familial connections occasionally, aren’t I?” 

 

“Did the others have ideas?” Teddy asked, smirking. “Kingsley and Ron?  I love the whole alternate reality idea of this conversation.” 

 

“Kingsley wanted to name her _Emma_ for some reason,” said Jean. “And Ron wanted to name her after one of the witches from _Fountain of Fair Fortune_.” 

 

Teddy’s heart skipped a beat as he thought back to that one night… 

 

“Probably better than _Babbity Rabbity_ ,” he said, his throat suddenly dry, trying to force the thought of Hermione hanging over him, hair framing her face, body... 

 

“The point,” Jean continued, bringing Teddy back, “is that we have this way about us. This stubborn streak where we want things to be absolutely perfect, or want things to stay just as they are if they’re already perfect. And we have this nasty habit of falling for people who are just as stubborn. 

 

“The first time I knew I was in love with Ron was when he sacrificed himself for Harry and me on the chessboard in our first year. And he’s told me he loved me for at least as long as that. Maybe longer. Even after he left Harry and me, and after he came back, we still weren’t able to admit it to each other.” 

 

“After he left you?” Teddy asked. “What are you talking about?” 

 

Jean looked up, realizing that she may have said too much. “It…” she looked around to make sure no one was listening. “You’re old enough now. And I don’t think he’ll be upset if I tell you.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“He left us,” Jean said. “When we were hunting for the Horcruxes, Ron was… Well, the three of us had problems. It’s a part of the journey we don’t talk about. But it built for a while. And we had a row. And Ron walked out on us.” 

 

“He did?” Teddy had read all of the history books about Harry, Ron, and Jean. Had heard them all talk about their adventures since he was young enough to sit on their knee. But he had never heard this… 

 

“It’s not something he’s proud of,” Jean said. “And that’s why you didn’t know. But he came back, on the night he destroyed the locket. And I was so happy to see him, and I knew that he was happy to see me. But I was still too stubborn. Still wouldn’t admit my feelings to him. Instead of telling him right there and then, I got angry and we had another row. It took seven years, a big bloody war, and imminent death before we were finally able to break through all of the shit.” 

 

“Why did it take so long?” asked Teddy. “I mean, if you loved him...” 

 

“Stubborn,” she said. “I wanted him to be just a little better. Or I wanted to love him just a little more. Or, I don’t know, I wanted to know for sure, for one hundred percent sure, that he would love me back. So I was stubborn, and I waited for him to make the first move, while he was waiting for me to do the same.” 

 

“But eventually…” 

 

“Yes, eventually,” Jean said with a shrug. “I only wish that eventually was a lot sooner. But we were both that way. All it would have taken was for Harry or Ginny or Neville or anyone to just come right out and say ‘Look, you stubborn bastards are made for each other, and you should stop fucking around and be in love already.’  Ron and I could have done the same for Harry and Ginny. Sometimes love is so complicated that you just need someone else to step in and say ‘Enough already!’” 

 

Teddy shook his head. “Right, because that worked so well for me and Herm… for Caroline.” 

 

“You can call her _Hermione_ , you know,” Jean admitted. “That is her name.” 

 

“Two and a half years of Hogwarts we were best friends,” said Teddy, “and my friends kept saying ‘She your girlfriend? She your girlfriend? She should be your girlfriend.’ It never clicked.” 

 

“Sure it did,” said Jean. “You eventually asked her out, so I’d think that they said enough to push you to where you needed to go. We can’t do it alone all of the time. Sometimes we need others to point out the obvious. Why do you think I came all the way over here when I could have been standing beside my husband and son waving to my daughter?” 

 

“What are you talking about?” asked Teddy. 

 

“I’m talking about bucking tradition,” said Jean. “I lived seven years in agony over Ron, and I don’t want to see it happen to you. Do you still love Hermione?” 

 

“I…” Teddy stumbled, trying to think of a clear answer. “It’s kind of a tough question.” 

 

“Actually, it’s not,” said Jean, turning to him. “Forget about everything that’s happening between you two right now. Forget about the rules, forget about the promises, forget about the forced separation. Yes or no?” 

 

The way Aunt Jean put it, there really wasn’t any question… 

 

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I still do love her.” 

 

“That’s good,” said Jean, patting his hand. 

 

“Not really,” said Teddy. “It’s… Well, yeah, I still love her. But, unfortunately, I _can’t_ forget the rules, and the promises, and the separation and all of that.” 

 

Jean sighed. “Teddy,” she said, taking his hand. “I don’t really… I’m not really as close to my sister as much as I wanted to be when I first found her in Australia. It’s hard to start any sort of rapport when you’re separated by almost twenty years and only see each other on holidays and the occasional family dinner. But the last year or year and a half, between emails, short times I’ve been with her, and everything I’ve heard from my parents, I think I can safely say that she’s still crazy about you.” 

 

“Really?” Teddy said, straightening up. 

 

“Really,” said Jean with a smile. “I think she made it about two months at Bristol before she realized that she couldn’t stand not being with you.” 

 

“But… but why didn’t she tell me that?” asked Teddy. “If she’s…” 

 

“Why do you think I just spent so much time talking to you about Granger Stubborn?” Jean asked. “Hermione had this idea. She still thinks it’s a good idea. It’s making her absolutely miserable, but she still intends to see it through to the end. She’s been on many horrible dates, and is hoping that you go on many horrible dates of your own. She’s so stubborn about making sure you two are perfect for each other that she’s ignoring the fact that you already _are_ perfect for each other.” 

 

“So what good does that do me?” asked Teddy. “If she’s so intent on seeing this through to the end…” 

 

“Only until someone steps in,” said Jean. “And since you two haven’t been able to share friends like Ron and I shared Harry, it comes down to me: her sister and your… whatever I am.” 

 

Teddy smiled. “You’re my family, Aunt Jean,” he said. “You all are.” 

 

Jean cracked a small grin, and put her hand on the back of his neck. “You’re a special kid, Teddy,” she said quietly. “I know Ron and I probably don’t say it enough, since you’re more of the Potters’ than you are ours, but… We loved your parents, and love you just as much. Always have. There’s a reason I’m putting so much effort into my sister’s love life, and it’s because you’re worth it. Both of you.” 

 

“Thanks,” said Teddy. “I appreciate the effort, really.” 

 

“Good,” said Hermione Jean Weasley with a nod. “Well, I’ve done my part. I’ve intervened. I’ve told you what you needed to hear. 

 

“So what are you going to do about it?”


	43. After the Flaw: Finale

  
Author's notes: Doesn’t _Finale_ summarize it enough?

I want to thank all of my readers who started when I first posted After the Flaw, and all those newcomers and lurkers who have hopped on since. You’ve driven me to write more and go deeper than I ever have in a fic series before, and helped push this series to heights that I never imagined.  There will be much much more to come with After the Flaw: Oligarchy!

 Thanks to Almondjoyz for the beta!

Thanks again for reading!  Talk to you again soon!

* * *

Title: After the Flaw: Finale 

Author: kanedax 

Spoilers: Deathly Hallows, Previous Chapters

On 2 June 1998, Harry Potter faced Lord Voldemort and certain death so that his friends, his neighbors, and the wizarding world could defeat the Dark Lord and his minions and live their lives in peace and harmony.

 

Soon after, Harry faced He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named again. This time, Voldemort himself was defeated once and for all. 

 

The world was saved that night by a seventeen-year-old boy and his friends. 

 

All was well. 

 

\---------

 

7 September 2017. 

 

Nineteen years, three months, five days, and about seventeen hours later. 

 

\---------

 

“You have to be fucking kidding me.” 

 

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch.” 

 

“Of course I can should my panties in a bunch!” the knight known as Brad_Pitts_Clone said. “We can’t fight those things!” 

 

“But I've fought them before,” Tesla7Fold, the thief of their guild, replied. “Hell, I've fought _more_ than them before with my old guild. There’s only, what, _two_ orcs guarding that gate? Easy as pie.” 

 

“Two orcs were easy last week,” countered the guild’s healer, VBaudelaire. “Before that system glitch happened. Now we’ll all get smooshed into a fine paste. You especially, Tesla.” 

 

“Oh, come on,” Tesla said. “We might not have the levels we had before, but we’ve all been playing long enough where this should be simple. We have _real_ experience.  We can take them. Right, Harmony?” 

 

“Hermione.” 

 

“Whatever,” said Tesla, and Hermione Caroline Granger could practically hear him bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

 

“No, Brad’s right,” Hermione sighed. “We’re not ready to fight them yet. We should probably go back, spend some time building up our experience before we come back. I know I don’t have the spells to handle them like I used to.” 

 

“But this map sucks,” Tesla grumbled. “All it has is a bunch of slimes. It’ll take us hours to get any meaningful levels built.” 

 

“Then that’s what we’ll have to do,” said Hermione. 

 

“I remember this from the first time I played,” said Tesla. “There’s a bunch of really nice wolf packs on the other side of the gate. Tons of experience, and they’re a breeze to cut through. Do you think we can get through the gate without beating the orcs?” 

 

“I don’t know,” said Baudelaire. “I don’t think the system will let us do that.” 

 

“Well, only one way to find out, isn’t there?” 

 

And Tesla7Fold was gone, sprinting across the digital field towards the huge gate. 

 

“Oh, God, what does he think he’s doing?” asked Brad as he watched the two orcs step in front. 

 

“He’s pulling a Leeroy Jenkins,” Hermione growled. “Idiot. Come on, let’s get it over with.” 

 

“How do you know this guy again?” asked Baudelaire as the three ran to battle. 

 

“He’s one of my old friends from USC,” said Brad. “His old guild broke up and he was looking to hook on somewhere else.” 

 

“What did they call themselves? The Suicide Commandos?” 

 

Much to their surprise, Tesla was able to slip past the orcs undamaged. Unfortunately, and not as much of a surprise, as soon as he reached the gate, he bounced off harmlessly, as though it were blocked by an invisible barrier. 

 

“Shit!” he cried. “No good.” The MMO’s programming not only prevented him from passing through before the orcs were defeated, but also made the barrier powerful enough where his character was knocked onto his back. Before he righted himself, one of the orcs dropped his club onto the thief's chest, taking out a quarter of his hit points. 

 

“Get back here, Tesla!” Hermione called out. “We’re going to get slaughtered, but we might as well make the best of it for practice. V, are you on it?” 

 

“I’m on it,” Baudelaire replied, and Hermione saw the _MAGIC_ menu pop up beside the white mage, the highlighter scrolling down until it found a basic cure spell. 

 

“This sucks, this sucks, this sucks,” Brad chanted over and over as he took numerous swings at one of the orcs. Hermione quickly selected a low-level flame spell, one of the few in her inventory at this point in the game, and shot it at the second orc. 

 

“God, we’re barely doing any damage,” said Hermione. “We’re going to have to pull back.” 

 

“You need some help?” 

 

Hermione’s screen scrolled to show four other players approaching the battle. 

 

“No, we’re fine,” Tesla said. “Go find your own fight.” 

 

“We all need to get past these guys,” one of the four, another knight, said. The name floating over his avatar listed him as LittleGreenMan. “You’re newbies, we’re newbies…” 

 

“I’m all for it,” said Brad, swinging away. “I’m almost out of HP here, though…” 

 

“Sounds like we found some fellow Brits, too, Hermione,” said Baudelaire. 

 

“Brad, pull back,” Hermione said. “V can fix you up. We could definitely use the help.” 

 

“Oh, come on!” Tesla argued. “I don’t want to split the experience eight ways!” 

 

“Thirty seconds ago you were ready to run past these things without getting _any_ experience,” Baudelaire argued. 

 

“Okay, okay,” Tesla grumbled. “Whatever…” 

 

“Good,” Hermione said, turning back to the newcomers. “Who’s the leader?” 

 

“Gou is,” said their necromancer, Asya0998. 

 

GouFukami, the guild’s sorcerer, stepped forward. “That’s me.” 

 

“Nice name,” said Hermione with a smile. 

 

“Thanks,” Gou replied. “How do you want to do this?” 

 

“You lead your team, I lead mine?” 

 

“Probably easier with one head,” said Gou. “I’m all yours, Hermione.” 

 

“Hey, get that!” Brad called out as his avatar skirted back to the edge of the battlefield, where V began casting her healing spell. “Someone actually pronounced your name right, Herm!” 

 

“So how do you want to do this?” Gou repeated. 

 

“Um, alright,” Hermione mumbled, tallying what they had available. She had been playing this game for years, but this was one of the few times she coordinating more than four players. “What level are you all at? Ten?” 

 

“More or less,” said Green. 

 

“Gou, you have fire spells?” 

 

“And a nice thunder spell,” Gou replied. 

 

“Lovely,” said Hermione. “We had a system glitch and we lost most of our leveling a few days back. I only have a first level fire and a stunning spell so far.” 

 

“Ouch,” said Green. 

 

“Yeah, not pretty,” said Hermione. “Gou… That _is_ a cool name. Lots of kids my age grew up with _Power Rangers_ , but not many of them knew anything about the original _Sentai_.” 

 

“Well, Gou’s my favorite character,” Gou replied. “Are you a fan of _Gekiranger_?” 

 

“I am,” said Hermione. “It was my favorite when I was only watching the English versions, at least. But _Gaoranger_ ’s my Japanese version.” 

 

“Oh, please,” Gou replied. “ _Gaoranger_ was too busy. Too many characters, too many mecha. Besides, it was an anniversary series; of _course_ they were going to go full out. But it got too busy; the plot wasn’t very cohesive compared to _Go-onger_ and _Magiranger_.” 

 

“Hey, that’s what I liked about it, though!” said Hermione. “The twenty-four Red Warriors were half of the fun.” 

 

“Look, I hate to break up the geekfest,” said Brad, “but shouldn’t we be doing some fighting?” 

 

“Oh,” Hermione said. “Sorry.” 

 

“Yeah, sorry,” said Gou, walking away from Hermione’s sorceress. 

 

“Hermione,” Brad said with a sigh, “you want to do this? Or should I figure this out?” 

 

“No, I’m on it,” said Hermione, momentarily flustered. “Okay, so Gou’s got some decent spells. So do I. What other long-rangers do we have?” 

 

“Cat’s a ranger,” said Asya. “Bit of a plonker, though.” 

 

“He’s the newbie among newbies,” said Gou as Hermione examined the bow-wielding CatnTheHat. 

 

“I’ll do all right!” Cat argued. 

 

“Alright, well, I suppose it’ll have to do,” said Hermione. 

 

“We’ll make sure he hands it off to the girlfriend if there’s any problem,” said Green. “She’s just as raw, but her aim’s probably better.” 

 

“Alright,” said Hermione. “Asya, what do you have?” 

 

“Just a drain spell so far,” Asya0998 replied. “But my staff’s really pointy.” 

 

“Okay, then you can go in with Green, Brad, and Tesla. Those three come back out to V if you’re getting short on health, and Asya pull back and cast some drains for yourself unless you absolutely need a cure spell.” 

 

“Got it,” said Brad and Green at the same time. 

 

“Okay, everybody focus on one orc,” Hermione said as Gou, V, and Cat spread out. “Get the one closest to us first. Try to avoid the second one if you can. It’ll be a lot easier to take them one at a time than to try to spread the fight.” 

 

“Ready when you are, Hermione,” said Gou. 

  
Brad chuckled. “Let’s kill us some bad guys.” 

 

Hermione Caroline Granger took a deep breath. 

 

“Go!” 

 

\---------

 

The battle went a lot more smoothly than even Hermione anticipated. While Asya was a little rusty at times, it seemed as though Gou and Green knew what they were doing. _Probably not their first MMO,_ she thought. 

 

Her plan worked almost like clockwork, too, except for the few times that CatnTheHat hit their own players with his flailing arrows. 

 

“There’s too many buttons!” he cried out over the microphone. “I can’t…!” 

 

“Give me that,” a female voice came from the background, and within seconds the ranger’s arrows struck true. 

 

“That was a good fight,” said Gou a few minutes later as the teams divvied up their spoils and the gateway opened before them. “Good planning, Hermione. I could learn a thing or two from you.” 

 

“Thanks,” said Hermione. 

 

“Hermione,” Gou mused. “That’s Shakespeare, right?  _Winter’s Tale?_ ”

 

“That’s where my parents got it from,” Hermione said. “I’m impressed.”

 

“It’s nice.”

 

“Thanks,” Hermione replied. “So where are you from? You sound American.” 

 

“And you sound British,” Gou replied. “London?” 

 

“Oxford, actually,” said Hermione. “Well, actually, I’m in Bristol right now, at the university, but my family’s in Oxford.” 

 

“No way,” said Green. “You’re in _Bristol_?” 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“ _We’re_ in Bristol!” Green replied with glee. 

 

“You are?” Hermione asked. 

 

“Yeah, me and Gou are both here!” 

 

“But I thought Gou’s an American?” 

 

“Well, actually,” Gou said. “I’m visiting Green this weekend. Decided to meet up with the old guildmates. We’re actually at Green’s apartment right now, decided to get a little game in before going out for dinner. But I’m crashing on his couch this weekend.” 

 

“How old are you?” Baudelaire asked. 

 

“Nineteen,” Gou replied. 

 

“Are you single?” 

 

“Danielle!” Hermione cried, spinning around in her computer chair to stare angrily at her roommate, who was sitting across the room on her own system. 

 

“What?” Danielle asked innocently, turning around to face Hermione. “I’m not allowed to ask?” 

 

“Why?” Gou asked. “Are you?” 

 

“I’m not,” Baudelaire replied. “But Hermione is.” 

 

“ _Dani_!” 

 

“Are you cute?” Danielle, VBaudelaire, continued unabated. 

 

“I don’t know how to answer that question,” Gou said uncomfortably. 

 

“He is,” said Asya. “And I can say that in a purely non-romantic, platonic way. Gou’s hot.” 

 

“Agreed,” said Cat, who was now being voiced by the original player’s girlfriend. 

 

“Look, I’m not single!” Hermione cried out. “I’m not… I mean… we’re seeing other people, but I’m not single!” 

 

“Since when did this turn into a dating sim?” asked Tesla. “Can’t we keep moving?” 

 

“Hermione’s really cute,” Danielle said, ignoring Tesla. “And she wants to meet you.” 

 

“Danielle, no!” Hermione screamed, pulling her headphones off and sprinting across the room. 

 

“Really?” Danielle said, laughing hysterically as Hermione tried to wrestle the headphones from her head. “Brilliant. Well, she can’t hear you right now, but I’ll tell her. No, I promise she’ll be there. _What_?” 

 

Hermione finally pulled the headphones from Danielle’s head and held the attached microphone up to her mouth. “V and I have to go,” she said quickly. “Brad, Tesla, I’ll email you and we’ll figure out our next meeting time.” 

 

“Bye!” Danielle yelled loudly, still giggling like she was in primary school as Hermione reached over and logged VBaudelaire out of the system. 

 

“What are you doing?” Hermione said between clenched teeth. 

 

“Setting you up on a date,” said Danielle, standing up and walking to her bed. “Saturday, two o’clock, at the Tea Party on Park Street.” 

 

“ _What_?” 

 

“Hermione, I’m _making_ you go on a date.” 

 

“But _why_?” 

 

“Because he’s cute, and he’s single, and he’s American and short term and you could use a good weekend fling, and for God’s sake you were drooling all over each other with that _Sanka_ talk—“ 

 

“ _Sentai_ —“ 

 

“And so you have more in common than you did with a lot of the other supposed dates you’ve been on.” 

 

“But…” Hermione said weakly, sitting hard on her own bed, “but… Dani, I don’t know…” 

 

“Look, you said you wanted to see other people, right? That’s what you told Ted?” 

 

“Yes, I did,” Hermione argued. “But for _relationships_. Not for… whatever I’d have with someone who’s leaving on Sunday.” 

 

“Why not?” Danielle shrugged. “He seemed really nice, and you two have a lot in common. Why not meet him, and see what happens?” 

 

“Because nothing _can_ happen.” 

 

“Sure, things can happen,” said Danielle. “A lot of things can happen. You could come up with a new guildmate. You could find a new IM buddy. You could _have fun_ for once instead of locking yourself up in our room every weekend.” 

 

“I don’t—“ 

 

“You do,” Danielle insisted. “Too much. Hermione, you’re too sweet, too pretty, and too available to be wasting your university years away. Go out. Have fun. Get shagged.” 

 

“Danielle!” Hermione cried. “You know I’m…” 

 

“Right, right, you’re still a virgin, sorry,” Danielle sighed. “But bloody hell, Hermione, would it hurt to have _someone_ touch your fanny besides Mr. Buzzy?” 

 

“Oh, Lord,” Hermione moaned, falling back onto her pillow. “Dani… I’m going to come off like a complete git…” 

 

“No, you won’t,” said Dani, walking across to Hermione’s bed and sitting down. “Look, Hermione. Go on Saturday. Two o’ clock. Give Gou an hour. For me. If it goes well, you can thank me on Monday after he’s flown back to wherever he came from.”  
  
”And if it doesn’t?” Hermione asked, covering her face with her hands. 

 

“Then I promise I won’t try to set you up with anyone else ever again.” 

 

Hermione dropped her hands and looked at her roommate in disbelief. “Danielle,” she said. “Please…” 

 

“I promise I’ll make an effort to not set you up with anyone else ever again,” Danielle amended. “But I also don’t want you to be single for the next two years. At the very least it would be nice to bring Phillip over some nights without you being here.” 

 

“I don’t…” Hermione began, but then shook her head. “You’re right. I need to get out.” 

 

“Saturday?” 

 

“Saturday,” Hermione said begrudgingly. 

 

Danielle squealed with glee and clapped her hands together. “I’m going to make you look _so good_!” 

 

\---------

 

Danielle did a good job. 

 

As Hermione Granger turned the corner and saw the blue front of the Boston Tea Party, she stopped to check her reflection in the window of the tailor’s shop next door. 

 

“You know, you should try dressing like a girl more often,” Danielle had said, tossing various pieces of wardrobe at Hermione as she sat helplessly in bra and knickers on her bed. “Jumpers and jeans will only get you so far.” 

 

she was right, of course. Hermione knew that her best friend shared a completely different style than her own. And she probably would never dress like this again unless Dani specifically dressed her again.

 

But for now, the skirt, polo neck, and button-up sweater loaned to her by her roommate looked very nice. And with her blond hair down (she usually wore it back in a ponytail, at least unless she was with Ted _don’t think about Ted_ ), wearing Dani’s beret, Hermione was fairly confident that Gou’s jaw would hit the ground. 

 

_But that’s just it,_ a part of her protested. _Do we really_ want _his jaw to drop?_

 

Hermione did her best to shut out that small voice. _It’s just a date,_ she responded, taking a deep breath and stepping into the café. _Not a marriage proposal._

 

The café was somewhat dim as she stepped in from the bright September afternoon. 

 

“Okay then,” she whispered to herself, scanning the dozen or so bodies spread across the tables. “What did Dani say? Brown hair, brown corduroy jacket. Brown hair, brown corduroy jacket.” 

 

There he was, at one of the middle tables. His back was to the door, head down, studying a menu, a steaming cup of something at his side. Hermione hesitated. Steeled herself. Took a step towards the table. Then two. Then she was walking. 

 

Then she was sitting. 

 

“Hi,” she said nervously. “Sorry if I’m…” 

 

Gou looked up. 

 

It wasn’t Gou. 

 

“Hi,” said Teddy Lupin. 

 

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “Ted!” she cried, standing up. “What are… What are you doing here?” 

 

“I have a date, actually,” he said, looking around. “What are _you_ doing here?” 

 

“I… I do, too…” she said, her face turning scarlet. “Sorry, I guess wrong table there must be more than two corduroy jackets here…” 

 

“That’s alright,” Ted replied. 

 

_Why is this so easy for him?_ Hermione thought. _How can he play it so cool when it feels like I’m going to burst into flame from embarrassment?_

 

“Who are you looking for?” Ted continued. “What does he look like?” 

 

“I… I don’t know…” she said, staring at the floor, wishing she could just dig a hole and die in it. “I just met him… well, it’s a blind date, Dani set it up… Dani my roommate…” 

 

“Oh,” said Ted. “Well, that’s nice.” 

 

“Yeah,” Hermione said, pulling the beret from her head, suddenly feeling very stupid and very fake with it on. 

 

“Well, do you want me to leave?” asked Ted. “I mean, if you’d rather be alone…” 

 

“I don’t know,” Hermione sighed. She looked back into his eyes and was locked into them. Your… Your… Didn’t you say you have a date? Shouldn’t you wait for her?” 

 

“Actually, she’s here already,” said Ted. 

 

“Oh,” Hermione said, her face almost purple with embarrassment. Yet her eyes couldn’t move. “Right. Well. Alright. Then. Um. I should. Go. Outside and. Wait for him.” 

 

“Well, that would be odd,” said Ted. 

 

“Why would that be odd?” asked Hermione. “I don’t know what he looks like but I know what he’s wearing.” 

 

“No, I just mean it would be odd because _I’m_ your date.” 

 

“What--?” 

 

Hermione’s words were cut off because Teddy Lupin was kissing her.

 

It was like nothing she had ever felt before. None of their kisses, not their first, not their last, nothing compared to this one. With it Hermione felt a year and a half of loneliness, a year and a half of nerves, a year and a half of not having the one man she needed… all gone in an instant. 

 

“Ted,” she breathed, her heart pounding in her chest as she forced herself to pull away from him. “Ted, we shouldn’t…” 

 

“Hermione, listen to me,” Ted said. 

 

She fell silent, just reveling in his arms again. 

 

“I tried,” he said. “I tried to date other people. Tried to tell myself that there was a chance that you weren’t right for me. But then I decided that it was just stupid. I didn’t want to delay the inevitable. I could have waited until you were done with your schooling, but in the end it would feel like it was a wasted effort. I don’t even want to wait anymore. I just want us. I’ve never wanted anything else.” 

 

“Ted…” That slowly dying remnant of Granger Stubborn, of paranoia about whether she was making the right choice, was desperately fighting a losing battle. 

 

“Look, alright,” Ted said, stepping back. “In the end I just want you to do what you think is right. I just needed to tell you all that. I wanted to tell you that I love you, and that I’m going to wait for you. No matter what. So whenever you decide you want to be with me, I’ll be waiting.” 

 

“Ted…” Hermione repeated. So many words she wanted to say… 

 

“But if you want to be with Gou instead,” Ted said with a small smile, “I’ll understand.” 

 

Hermione saw Ted covertly pull his wand out of his coat pocket and give it a small flick. Since they were in a Muggle location, he couldn’t dare do anything more. But Hermione knew in which direction he had pointed the spell, and turned back to the table where the two had first met. 

 

There was now something new at the table. 

 

Relatively speaking. 

 

“Oh, my God,” she gasped, walking back to the table. “Is this…” 

 

“I told you online,” said Ted as Hermione picked up the toy, “Gou Fukami’s my favorite. The Purple Ranger. Always has been. That’s the same Ranger that Neville gave me for my birthday when we were four. The one I asked for because I knew you liked the show. You know, before you started liking the original Japanese.” 

 

“Ted….” It seems like all she could say anymore. She gazed amazingly at the purple plastic ninja, its paint now chipped away in most places. The right arm was tacked back in place, a small nail embedded in its shoulder. Had Harry done that? No, he would have used magic to repair it, most likely. It was probably Hermione’s own father, Dan Granger, who had fixed Teddy’s toy when it had been broken. He was a Muggle, and Teddy hadn’t wanted to entrust the Muggle toy to anyone else. 

 

And around his neck…

 

“Like his necklace?” Teddy said behind her, his mouth an inch from her ear. 

 

Hermione’s hand covered her mouth in a very Granger-like way at the gold band encircling the toy’s neck. 

 

“We can wait,” he whispered, wrapping his hands around her waist from behind. “We can wait the two years until you’re done at the university. But I wanted to ask now. So I know. So _we_ know.” 

 

Hermione Caroline Granger, her hands suddenly shaking uncontrollably, slowly lifted the ring from around the toy’s neck. Afraid that she was going to drop it into Ted’s tea, she quickly set it into the palm of her hand. She wanted go wrap her fingers around it just to be safe, but she couldn’t look away. 

 

“Hermione Granger,” Ted whispered. “Will you marry me?” 

 

She turned around in his arms. Smiled. Nodded. 

 

Kissed him. 

 

“Bloody hell,” she heard from somewhere in the distance. “What the hell’s wrong with that bloke’s hair?” 

 

“Newest in hair dye technology,” a female voice responded. “Not on the market yet, still in its test phase. Changes color in response to the scalp’s body temperature. You’re not allowed to tell anyone about it until it hits the shelves.” 

 

Hermione pulled back to see that Teddy’s hair had now turned bright blue. 

 

“Oh, God, Ted,” Hermione gasped. “Your hair… you’re in public…”

 

“Asya’s with the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Department,” he whispered, motioning to a nearby table. “She handled it well enough, I think…”

 

“Carla?” Hermione gasped, as Carla Meece gave her a friendly wave, Edmund Lemming sitting beside her. 

 

“She’s pretty good, isn’t she?” Ted said with a small smile. 

 

“She’s Asya?” Hermione gasped. “How did she know how to play?” 

 

“She’s studied Muggle,” said Ted with a shrug. “She learned how to use a computer as part of her training.” 

 

“And the others?” 

 

“Ummm, let’s see,” Ted said. “Edmund’s LittleGreenMan. He was a player before he even started at Hogwarts, so he knew what he was doing. Gavin and Jenn,” he pointed to another smiling couple at other end of the café, “were CatnTheHat, and you could tell. They played like they had never touched a computer in their lives. They were using Edmund’s sister’s system, didn’t even know what a bloody keyboard was until Edmund and I sussed it out with them.” 

 

“Was… They were all in on this?” Hermione gasped in bemused disbelief. “Dani?” 

 

“I emailed Dani last week,” Ted admitted. 

 

“But you didn’t know her!” 

 

“Your sister told me about her,” he replied. “Gave me a last name. I looked her up in the school’s directory. Sent her an email. She was all for it, wanted to do whatever she could for you. Both of them.”

 

“My sister?” Hermione said, her disbelief piling up. “She… She helped?” 

 

“She’s the one that gave me the swift kick in the arse, actually,” said Ted. “She’s a nice lady, Aunt Jean is. We had a nice long chat.” 

 

Hermione smiled, shook her head in amazement. “You’re astonishing, you know that?” 

 

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said, and kissed her again. 

 

A minute later ( _Was it a minute?_ Hermione thought. _It felt like a moment_ ) Ted pulled back. “Oh, and you’re supposed to call Dani,” he said. “She couldn’t make it, but she wanted to know the outcome.” 

 

“I’ll get around to it,” Hermione chuckled. “I’m a little busy right now.” 

 

“If you want, I could send her an owl,” said Carla. “Which is teenage slang for a text message,” she said quickly, seeing a nearby couple look at her in confusion. 

 

“An owl?” Hermione whispered to Ted. 

 

“Why not?” Teddy Lupin replied. “She’s your friend. Don’t you think she should know about the family you’re marrying into?” 

 

Hermione Caroline Granger smiled. Kissed her fiancé again. 

 

“I definitely have to buy some of that hair dye when it comes out,” the café patron whispered to her partner as the wizard and the Muggle kissed in the middle of the café. “It’s bloody brilliant stuff.” 

 

This kiss lasted a lot longer. 

 

\---------

 

Nineteen years, three months, seven days, and twelve hours later. 

 

And all was well. 

 

 

 

THE END

 


End file.
